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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834216">Supernatural Omens</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyLives/pseuds/CrowleyLives'>CrowleyLives</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>318,959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyLives/pseuds/CrowleyLives</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean cross paths with a powerful supernatural entity that, prophecy has it, will either save the world or destroy it. What could possibly go wrong? Eventual Dean/OFC and Crowley/OFC. TW: Rape/attempted rape, attempted suicide. Also everybody swears, a lot. Non-canon compliant. Eventual smut.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crowley (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Enemy of My Enemy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Supernatural Omens</p><p><br/>Author’s notes: While based in the Supernatural universe, this story veers off on its own in a few abnormalities.  First off, in this story, monsters look like monsters.  Dragons really look like Smaug, and werewolves go full-on wolf; Leviathans can show their ‘true forms’ as gigantic, dinosaur-like beasts.  Secondly, some story lines from the show have been edited or cut entirely, ignoring most of anything that happened after Season 10 (and some stuff before that).  Third, my monster lore is not necessarily canon.  When I use the term “shifter” or “shape-shifter,” I’m referring to an entity that can change from human to animal form, as opposed to the series definition of shifter, which is a humanoid that takes on other human forms through shedding.  </p><p><br/>I’d also like to point out that the female OCs are, indeed, Mary Sues, and while I’m a bit ashamed about it, I’m not going to change them.  This story is my therapy, the way that I deal with my anxiety and depression, and so I write my OCs as super strong and super smart and super lovable because it helps me to feel those things about myself.  So, sorry but not sorry.  Maybe they can be therapeutic for you, too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Chapter 1: Enemy of my Enemy</p><p><br/> Sam wasn’t sure how he’d missed the signs.  All they ever did was look for supernatural stuff, and yet they’d managed to overlook one of the largest invasions of their lives.  It was like one day, everything was normal, and the next Dick Roman was back from the dead, running half the businesses in America, all “reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.”  And then it became glaringly obvious: Everything had been overtaken by the Leviathans, the same slimy black-blooded monsters they’d sent back to Purgatory years ago.  How had they gotten out again?  How had they managed to put together what was basically the same operation as last time without anyone, including angels and demons, noticing?  </p><p><br/> Well, perhaps he could see how Heaven hadn’t noticed.  The angels were busy fighting each other, as usual.  And Hell…Well, Hell was finally starting to cool off, so to speak, now that Abaddon was dead and Crowley was back in control (though there was always something trying to overthrow him, wasn’t there).  As for him and Dean, things seemed to be as close to ‘normal’ as they ever were: Dean was no longer a demon, the Darkness was no longer a threat, and Lucifer was back in his Cage.  It was only fitting, Sam supposed, for the next major crisis to hit, since all the other crises were now averted.</p><p> <br/> And so they found themselves back in a previous chapter of their lives, filling Super Soakers with Borax and lopping off the head of every Levi they could find.  In a way, it was better now, because they had the safety of the Bunker to retreat to, and they knew (more or less) what the leviathans were up to.  And in a way it was harder, because the leviathans knew what they were up to, and now they were more efficient, and their plans were moving forward so much faster.  There was also the matter of sending the leviathans back to Purgatory again: The weapon they’d created last time wouldn’t work, as the lovely Men of Letters had managed to off the last Alpha known to man.  So they were left playing Whack-a-Mole, cutting one head off at a time with no end-game, while the leviathans were busy dumbing down the nation and preparing their slaughterhouses.  </p><p><br/> A quick check by Castiel on Purgatory gave them even more bad news: The Leviathans had escaped, along with every other monster, by breaking open the main gateway.  It was well and truly broken, which meant that it couldn’t seal itself back up.  As long as the gate remained open, anything they killed would just pop back out again, and even if they did find another way to banish the leviathans back to Purgatory, they’d just walk back out the door unless Sam and Dean found a way to close it (because, let’s face it, no one else was going to).  They were, in a word, fucked.  </p><p><br/>***</p><p><br/> Dean shouldered the warehouse door open, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the low light.  In one hand, he held an electric Super-Soaker which was fed by an industrial-sized backpack reservoir, normally used for spraying pesticides in greenhouses, but which now contained an immense quantity of Borax solution.  In his other hand, resting across the water gun, was a very sharp machete.  He held his breath, listening for voices or footsteps.  Wind swept down through a broken window, rustling sheets of plastic.  Where are the damn leviathans? </p><p><br/> Sam had gone to investigate the warehouse over four hours ago.  It was supposed to be a simple recon mission, but obviously something had gone wrong, because he wasn’t answering his phone and he hadn’t returned to the motel.  It was possible the asshats had moved him to another location, or (he wasn’t going to think about it) eaten him already, but according to Sam’s GPS, this was where his phone was.  If nothing else, Dean would find his brother’s phone, then figure out what to do from there.  Besides, the fuckers knew he’d come looking.  If they were gone, they’d be back for him.  And then…</p><p><br/> …Borax, bitches.  </p><p><br/> His foot slipped on something wet and he pitched forward, hitting his head on a metal beam with a loud metallic “clang” that echoed throughout the building.  Great.  So much for stealth, he thought.  He steadied himself and braced for an attack.  </p><p><br/> The echo faded, and the world went back to an uncomfortable silence.  There should have been a thunder of running feet, or at least a hushed scuffling of feet and whispered commands.  But this…This was too quiet.  He glanced up at the rows of shelves, wondering if they were perched above his head, but he couldn’t see anything unusual.  He looked down at his foot to see what he’d stepped in, and crouched down to take a closer look.  </p><p><br/> The floor was splattered with…Water?  Oil?  He dipped his finger in the liquid and took a tentative sniff.  Leviathan blood.  So.  There’d been a fight, and Sam had managed to injure at least one of the bastards.  Dean shuffled along the trail of black goo, ducking behind shelves and darting his eyes upward every few steps.  He spied a pair of legs sticking out from another aisle and rushed to investigate.  Sam?</p><p><br/> The legs didn’t belong to Sam, which was great considering they weren’t attached to a body anymore.  They were just a pair of legs, oozing black goo.  A few feet away from them, Dean discovered a hip, and a little further down there was a ribcage and one arm.  What the hell?  Sam didn’t do this, so what did?  He continued to creep along, stopping abruptly when he heard a noise.</p><p><br/> It sounded like someone dragging something, or someone, heavy.  When he stopped, so did the noise; he moved again, and so did the other person.  So that’s how it’s going to be, eh?  Fine, Dickwad.  You’re not leaving here with my brother.  Dean ran forward, the giant vat of chemicals on his back sloshing and threatening to throw him off balance.  He knew he’d been found out, so there was no point in trying to keep quiet: His shoes pounded against the cement, soles squeaking as they skidded across black goo.  He hopped around bits of skin and hair, tripping over a severed arm and righting himself.  </p><p><br/> “I know you’re there, asshat!” </p><p><br/> “Dean?”  </p><p><br/> The voice was hoarse and frail, but unmistakably Sam’s.  </p><p><br/> “Sam!”</p><p><br/> He headed for the sound of his brother wheezing for air.  Something shuffled rapidly across the floor, then went quiet.  Dean reached the end of the warehouse and saw body parts everywhere.  Slumped against the far wall was his brother, splattered in black goo, his right shoulder ripped open, the whole right side of his shirt drenched in blood.  Nothing else in the general vicinity appeared to be alive, but he hadn’t stayed alive this long by letting his guard down.  He holstered the machete and tucked the water gun under his chin, kneeling beside his brother.  </p><p><br/> “Sammy?  You okay?”</p><p><br/> Sam blinked at him slowly, his eyes unfocused.  “Dean…Run…”</p><p><br/> “Not without you, buddy.  Come on, stand up!”  Dean grabbed Sam’s undamaged arm and hoisted it across his shoulders.  Sam’s legs wouldn’t support his weight and he collapsed immediately.  Dean pitched to the side, and he would have righted them both had it not been for the inertia of the massive water tank on his back.  The tank toppled him over, and Sam flopped on top of him like a giant ragdoll.  Their combined weight broke the reservoir, and Dean found himself drenched in liquid Borax.  </p><p><br/> “Shit.”  </p><p><br/> Sam groaned and rolled off his brother, hissing in pain as he moved.  “Dean…”</p><p><br/> “What the hell do you want me to do, Sam?  You can’t run.  You want me to carry your ass out of here?”</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed his shoulder, trying to keep himself upright.  “I think you scared it off, but it’ll be back…Just go…”</p><p><br/> “Scared what off?”</p><p><br/> Sam gasped, choked, and spat blood onto the floor.  “It killed them…There were—” he paused to cough, then shook his head and sent a gob of blood flying out of his nose.  “There were five of them.  They smashed my tank, got the jump on me.  One of ‘em…”  His eyes started to glaze over, and his head drooped.</p><p><br/> “Sam!” Dean hissed, smacking him on a bit of chest that didn’t look broken.  “What—Oh shit.”  He slipped his arms from the straps of the now useless water tank and felt for Sam’s pulse.  It was low, but at least he had one—he laid him back on the floor and listened for his breathing, which was, again, present but not fantastic.  It sounded like he had blood in his lungs.  “Come on, man, don’t do this here.  If you’re gonna pass out, at least wait till we’re not in Leviathan Central.”</p><p><br/> Sam wheezed, but didn’t open his eyes.  </p><p><br/> “Fine.  Screw you, asshole,” Dean grumbled.  He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and hooked his arms under his brother’s back and knees.  You can do this, Dean.  You’ve done this a hundred times before…Just with chicks that weigh, like, half of what he does…And are a lot smaller…Oof, can I even lift him?  Time to go on a diet, Sammy.  He staggered to his feet, and his back and biceps immediately objected.  Keep it together, man.  He pitched toward the rear door, accidentally using Sam’s head to push it open.  Sam didn’t even groan, which he took to be a very bad sign.  Now all he had to do was circle the entire building to reach the car, load Sam into it, and get him back to the motel so he could fix him up.  He needed a hospital, really, but he knew the local one would be infested with more leviathans.</p><p><br/> Dean made his way around the building, feeling like his arms were going to explode, like that body-builder who took too many steroids.  He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head, but he could see the car, they were almost in the clear!  He lurched forward, dumping Sam onto the ground not quite as gently as he’d hoped to.  Again, Sam made no response.  Dean ripped the passenger door open and stooped over his brother again, but now his arms refused to work for him.  He knelt at Sam’s side, trying to catch his breath, and he realized something disturbing: He couldn’t see Sam breathing.  He put his hand on his chest, trying to feel for the rise and fall that would indicate life, and discovered he couldn’t feel his heartbeat, either.  Starting to panic, he felt Sam’s pulse.  An icy wave of dread washed down his spine as he realized there was nothing there.  </p><p><br/> “Fuck.”</p><p><br/> Adrenaline surged through his veins, giving him one hail-Mary last-ditch bit of strength to start chest compressions.  Not doing mouth-to-mouth, buddy.  It had been years since he’d had to do CPR, but after a lifetime of demon-hunting the motions were nearly automatic.  Just kidding, I’ll breathe for you if you promise not to die.  I’m not making out with another dead person.  He felt something crack in Sam’s sternum, which he knew was normal but still freaked him the hell out.  He paused to check for a pulse again and felt a large presence in front of him.  His head shot up, and black spots swam in his vision—carrying his brother, plus the chest compressions, had taken more out of him than he’d like to admit.  </p><p><br/> He shook his head, clearing his vision, and nearly toppled over backwards.  Standing in front of him was a dragon: Not a human with flaming hands, but a real, in-the-flesh, giant lizard-y dragon.  It was the height of a horse, completely black, its wings folded at its sides.  Its blue eyes were fixed on Sam and Dean.  </p><p><br/> Dean dropped Sam’s lifeless wrist and staggered to his feet.  “Are you shitting me right now?”</p><p><br/> The dragon snorted and pawed the ground, slicing the pavement with its claws.  Dean straightened and reached for his gun.  </p><p><br/> “Fine.  Bring it on, Toothless.”</p><p><br/> He tried to raise the pistol to aim at the dragon, but his arm refused to cooperate.  Both arms seemed to have disconnected from his brain, ignoring its frantic call to arms.  Dean ground his teeth, willing his arm to work.  The dragon spread its wings, flapping them toward him and creating a gust strong enough to knock him off his feet.  He slammed into the asphalt and rolled, gripping the gun with both hands and using the ground to help support his aim.  </p><p><br/> Lightning shot from the dragon, arcing into Sam.  His body jolted, momentarily jumping off the ground.  Dean shouted in surprise, but the sound was muffled by the sharp crack of thunder that followed.  He squinted in the dark, his eyes thrown off by the burst of light, and shot in the general direction of the enemy.  The dragon screeched and seemed to implode on itself, disappearing in the dark.  He hesitated for a moment, wondering what the hell just happened, before remembering his brother.  </p><p><br/> “Sam?  Sam!”  He holstered the gun and scrambled to his side.  </p><p><br/> Sam jolted awake, coughing and choking.  Dean rolled him onto his side, not sure what the hell was going on but glad to have his brother back.  Sam spit blood and groaned.<br/> “Dean?  What happened?”</p><p><br/> “You got your ass kicked by a bunch of leviathans.”</p><p><br/> “No, I…I got that bit.  How’d you get rid of the reaper?”</p><p><br/> “Reaper?  What’re you talking about?”</p><p><br/> “I was dying.  No…I was dead.”  He turned his head, looking suspiciously at the car.  “Did you zap me with jumper cables?”</p><p><br/> “No, I gave you CPR.  Broke some ribs, by the way.  That dragon thing zapped you—must’ve been trying to cook you.  I’ve never heard of a dragon that shoots lightning.”</p><p><br/> Sam coughed again.  “I think it restarted my heart.”  He sat up, regretting it instantly as pain swept through his chest.  “Jeez, Dean, you know you don’t have to break ‘em for it to work, right?”</p><p><br/> “Hey, are you alive or not?” Dean snapped.  “Come on, we need to get out of here before it comes back.”</p><p><br/> It took more effort than expected to get Sam into the car.  The lightning strike had energized him, but his body was still half-dead, and any sort of locomotion was really beyond his grasp.  Dean had spent too much energy carrying him out and giving him CPR; now, his arms were nearly useless.  They shoved each other upright like a pair of drunk, stoned college students after an all-night party, taking ten minutes to do something that should have taken ten seconds.  As Dean finally slid behind the wheel, he spotted headlights coming down the road ahead of them.  </p><p><br/> “Crap.”</p><p><br/> The engine roared to life, and he fumbled with the steering wheel, his shoulders and biceps burning with the effort of just keeping his arms out in front of him.  He reversed back around the side of the warehouse, wincing as he slammed into a metal barrel with a loud ‘bang.’  The barrel toppled over and rolled noisily to the side—it was full of scrap metal, and it seemed determined to make as much noise as humanly possible.  </p><p><br/> Headlights bounced around the building, focusing squarely on their car.  Dean reversed to the end of the drive, then spun the car in a cloud of tire-smoke and took off.  The other vehicle was close on his tail.  </p><p><br/> Dean glanced at his brother, wondering if he was capable of using a gun; but Sam was already passed out in the passenger seat, slumped awkwardly to the side and wheezing softly.  Great.  He reached for his own gun, aware that he was unlikely to hit anything at this point, let alone keep hold of the trigger.  He heard shots being fired behind him, and before he could think of a plan “B,” an explosive ‘pop’ alerted him to one of the tires being blown.  The car sagged to the right and veered off the road before he could even think to take his foot off the accelerator; they crashed through a barbed-wire fence before coming to a sad, gurgling halt in an old horse pasture.  </p><p><br/> Sam struggled to sit upright.  “What’s happening?”</p><p><br/> “We’re under attack,” Dean snapped.  “Looks like more of Roman’s goons.”</p><p><br/> “Shit.  We can’t fight them like this.”</p><p><br/> “We don’t have a choice.  Stay here.”  </p><p><br/> Dean slid out of the car and crouched behind his open door, gun in one hand and machete in the other.  He knew the gun wouldn’t do shit against the leviathans, but it was all he had going for him at this point.  </p><p><br/> Two men in dark suits got out of the offending car, looking relaxed and happy.  They knew they’d already won, and now they could gloat over their dinner.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, Dean.  I’m going to enjoy eating you.”  Both men sidled toward him casually, as if he were an old business partner.  “I think we’ll start with your brother, though.  You can watch.”</p><p><br/> Dean jumped up to fire a shot, grazing the speaker’s temple and splattering him in black goo.  The speaker didn’t even change his facial expression; he grew the tissue back, closing the wound, and mopped the side of his face with a handkerchief.  </p><p><br/> “Really, Dean?”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged, firing again and hitting him square in the forehead.  “If I can’t gank you, least I can do is piss you off,” he growled.  He shot the second man in the chest, then the neck.  </p><p><br/> Goon # 2 smoothed his shirt as his chest healed.  “I’ll get the brother out.”</p><p><br/> “Careful not to bruise the meat.  Makes it bitter.”</p><p><br/> Goon # 2 began to circle around the side.  “I’ve got Sriracha—makes everything better.”</p><p><br/> Goon #1 was almost at the rear bumper now.  Dean shot him in the chest, but he barely even blinked.  “Really?  I’ve heard about it, but never tried it.”</p><p><br/> “Seriously?  Oh man, you’ve got to try it.”  He pulled a small bottle out of his pocket.  “Spicy Winchester—my treat.”</p><p><br/> Dean slammed his door shut and leapt at the first goon, slashing wildly with the machete.  The man deflected it easily and grabbed him by the wrists, slamming him into the side of the car and smashing his hand against the metal until he dropped his weapon.  Dean kicked his shin, head-butted him, and kicked his kneecap, but it had no effect other than to make him angry.  He braced himself as the leviathan opened its freakish mouth full of razor-sharp teeth—</p><p><br/> Black goo spurted from its neck, splattering Dean’s face and clothes.  It collapsed, still holding onto Dean’s wrists, and he was forced to drop with it.  The dragon from the warehouse was on top of the leviathan, its jaws clamped around its neck.  It shook the man’s body, and finally he let go of Dean; Dean heard his neck snap.  It laid one clawed foot on top of the man, then snapped its head up, ripping the leviathan’s head from its body.  It tossed the head into the air, caught it in its teeth, and crushed the skull with a ‘crack’ as loud as a gunshot.  Then it spat it out, turned, and leapt over the car.  </p><p><br/> The remaining leviathan, his hand on the passenger door handle, turned to eye the dragon.  “We’re all monsters to them,” he said.  “You and I, we’re on the same side!  What’s the point in fighting?”</p><p><br/> The dragon roared and shot lightning at him; black goo exploded from where he was hit.  </p><p><br/> “Fine.  If that’s how you want it to be.”  </p><p><br/> The man went full-on leviathan.  His suit and skin gave way to leathery gray hide, which got bigger and bigger.  He grew to the size of a two-story house, looking like what would happen if every dinosaur that ever existed were wadded up into one mega-dinosaur, but with more teeth.  The head, while not massive, seemed to be made up entirely of mouth, and that mouth was filled with rows of teeth.  It had spikes in places where spikes shouldn’t be, including on its impossibly long tail.  With one whip of its tail, the car went skidding across the field, Dean hanging onto the door handles for dear life.  </p><p><br/> The dragon charged up at the leviathan, biting at its long neck; but its teeth couldn’t even break the monster’s skin.  It circled around in the air, dodging the thing’s tail and jaws.  It pumped its bat-like wings, gaining altitude, until it was high above its foe’s reach; the leviathan followed it with an open mouth, snarling and gnashing its teeth together.  The dragon turned and folded its wings, plummeting straight toward it; Dean was sure it was going to break off at the last second and attack, but the leviathan snapped its neck up, jaws straining, and the dragon’s head disappeared into its mouth.</p><p><br/> Then the rest of it disappeared.</p><p><br/> The leviathan didn’t swallow it whole—it just disappeared.  One moment, it was neck-deep in the thing’s mouth, and the next, it just wasn’t there.  Dean decided that, if he made it out of this alive, he was going to get in touch with a dragon expert, because none of the children’s stories said anything about lightning or being able to vanish.  <br/> The leviathan turned, its mouth-head turned toward Dean and the car.  Dean ran around to the passenger side and tried to haul Sam out, but he could barely stand, let alone walk.  As he thought frantically about a plan “C,” the monster paused in its steps.</p><p><br/> Its midsection bulged, glowed red, and ripped apart very slowly, like an old duffel bag on its last leg.  Black goo, mixed with fire, poured from it like lava.  Something else was coming out of it, like in Alien but instead of the chest, it was coming out of the entire creature.  The whole leviathan exploded in slow-motion, revealing another dragon—though this one was much larger than the previous one, over half the size of the leviathan—and as it stretched and unfurled its wings, it flung black goo everywhere, revealing a deep red, scaly hide.  It stomped on the remaining bits of its victim, blasting them with fire, focusing on the head and neck until it was satisfied the thing was truly dead.  </p><p><br/> It turned its attention to Sam and Dean, and now Dean was really at a loss.  Dragon disappears, bigger dragon reappears…Maybe it’s not really a dragon then—Shapeshifter!  Too bad I don’t have a silver cannonball—how am I supposed to hurt this thing?  He pulled at the trunk release, but the combination of fence and leviathan tail had crunched it just enough that he couldn’t get it open.  </p><p><br/> “Dean!”</p><p><br/> He snapped his head around, giving up on the trunk for now.  The dragon was shrinking—in a matter of seconds, it had changed into a human.  Dean couldn’t make out any features from where he was in the dark, but the outline of the body was definitely human.  The shifter took several steps forward, then collapsed.  <br/> “Sam, have you got—”</p><p><br/> “In the glovebox.  But Dean, I don’t think we should just kill it without talking to it—he kinda helped us out there.  And, uh, honestly, I’m not sure he wasn’t trying to help all along.”</p><p><br/> Dean pulled a dagger and gun out of the glove box, checking to make sure the blade and bullets were silver.  “I’m not gonna kill him unless he tries to kill me.  Dude brought down leviathans, I want to know what his deal is before we gank him.”  He rolled his eyes at Sam’s expression.  “If we gank him.”</p><p><br/> He crept across the field, trying to side-step chunks of leviathan and the larger pools of black goo, finally arriving at the body.  Minutes later, he was back at the car carrying the humanoid creature.</p><p><br/> “So, what’s the story?” Sam asked.  He’d managed to get back into the passenger seat, sitting sideways with the door open.  </p><p><br/> “Well, she’s a lot lighter than you,” Dean said, though his muscles still ached from earlier.  “Get the door for me, will you?”</p><p><br/> Sam turned at the mention of ‘she’ and nearly fell out of his seat: Dean was carrying what looked like a young woman, naked but covered in black Leviathan blood.  “That’s—it’s not a...”</p><p><br/> Dean huffed, his arms on the verge of giving out.  “Door, Sam.”</p><p><br/> Sam yanked the door open and Dean laid the body down across the back seat.</p><p><br/> “Keep an eye on her while I get the spare out.”  Dean hit the trunk with a rock (mentally apologizing to his Baby) until it opened for him, then moved quickly to change their shot tire.  “…But not too close an eye!” he snapped from the back of the car.</p><p><br/> Sam laughed.  “Excuse me?  Are you Mr. Chivalry all of a sudden?”</p><p><br/> “I’m just sayin’, you have a history with demons, Sam.  Maybe that extends to other weird shit, too.”</p><p><br/> Sam bristled.  Dean was never going to let him live that down, was he?  He decided to ignore his brother, focusing instead on guarding the shifter.  There wasn’t much he could tell about her in the dark, other than that she was definitely female and covered in a lot of leviathan goo.  She was short—she could almost lie flat in the back, so just over five feet, Sam guessed—and her skin, at least where the goo wasn’t, was pale.  Her hair was long and she looked young…Not quite ‘child’ young, but she would’ve been carded if she went to a bar.  He focused on the thick wads of goo oozing down the side of her face, like it was the most important thing in the world, because the alternative would have been staring at her breasts, and he felt a little skeezy staring at a stranger’s unconscious body, even if said stranger was only a shapeshifter.  It was fine in porn, because those people gave their consent to be ogled by everyone, but in person…Eh, sketchy…</p><p><br/> Dean smacked his shoulder, snapping him to attention.  “Dude, come on.  She’s not going to attack us with her tits.  Focus.”</p><p><br/> Sam shifted around so he was facing forward, and Dean started the engine.  “I wasn’t—”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, okay,” Dean chuckled.  “Your eyes weren’t popping out of your head like a cartoon.”</p><p><br/> Sam crossed his arms, glaring at his brother.  “That’s not what I was staring at.  I mean, I wasn’t staring at anything.”</p><p><br/> “You know what I think, Sammy?  Soon as we get you healed up, we are going to a bar and getting you laid.  I’ll even be your wingman.”</p><p><br/> Sam snorted.  “No, you’ll say that’s what you’re doing, then you’ll hijack my girl.”</p><p><br/> “When have I ever—No, don’t answer that.  But I’m serious, Sammy, I’ll do it.”</p><p><br/> “And who’s going to babysit our friend while we’re off duty?”  He tilted his head to indicate the creature in the back seat.  </p><p><br/> Dean sighed.  “You know what, Sam?  Screw you.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> When they reached the hotel, Dean helped Sam get inside, then went back out to grab the shifter.  He glanced around the lot, thankful that they were alone—it would have looked suspicious if someone had seen him hauling a naked woman out of the back of his car.  He scooped her up in his arms and dashed back to their room, whacking her head on the door frame in his haste.</p><p><br/> “Shit!” Dean hissed.</p><p>“Aargh,” the shifter mumbled, opening her eyes and rubbing her head.  </p><p><br/> Dean panicked and dropped her on the floor; she shrieked in surprise, stopping suddenly as she landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her.  Thinking fast, Dean slammed the door shut and locked it, drawing the silver bullet gun as he spun back to face her.  She rolled onto her side and sat up slowly; her eyes focused on Dean, then the gun, then Sam, then back to the gun.  She sniffed the air, like she could smell the silver nearby.  Dean kept the gun pointed at her, but several thoughts were clamoring for attention in his head.</p><p><br/> This is weird, even for us, he thought.  She killed half a dozen leviathans—why would a shifter even care about them?  It’s got to be working for someone.  Or some thing.  <br/> Sam grabbed their first-aid kit and attempted to patch up his mangled shoulder, which was made more unpleasant thanks to the ribs Dean had broken.  Dean knew he should be helping him, but he didn’t dare take the gun off the girl for a second.  Whatever she was, she’d just shifted into real live dragons—multiple types of dragons—and there was really nothing, as far as he could tell, stopping her from killing him and his brother.</p><p><br/> Right, he thought.  Time to interrogate a naked chick.  Jesus---why is she still naked?  Can’t we fix that somehow?  It’s damn hard to think with all that skin in the room.<br/> “Hey, uh—you got a name?”</p><p><br/> The shifter looked up at him and rubbed her head where he’d banged it into the doorway a moment ago.  She seemed concerned about the gun, but not nearly as concerned as Dean was about whatever she could do back to him.  “Ash,” she said.  </p><p><br/> In his peripheral vision, Dean saw Sam lean back in bed.  He looked paler than usual, and maybe a little grey around the edges.  He wasn’t going to be much help tonight.  Focus on her face, he told himself.  Just…Don’t forget that the rest of her can grow claws and shit.</p><p><br/> “Okay, Ash, here’s how this is going to go.  I’m going to make Sam get off his ass one more time to grab you some clothes—”  Sam groaned, but got up and began to rummage through their bags—“Then we’re going to sit down at the table like normal people, and have a chat.  If you don’t like that plan, I’ve got a full clip of silver bullets with your name on them.  Capische?”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  That was all—no biting retort, no baring of teeth, macho posturing, no laughing or spitting in his face.  It was downright unsettling—Dean wondered if he’d finally hit his head one too many times, and was now hallucinating shape-changing dragons.  This one must be playing the long game, he thought, trying to get us to let our guards down before she strikes.  Good luck with that, doll.  </p><p><br/> Sam dug up a t-shirt and a pair of workout shorts and tossed them to the girl.  She looked at them for a moment, like she had to remember how they worked, but then slid them on quickly.  Dean motioned for her to sit down at the table, which she did, keeping her eyes on him as she moved.  Dean sat down across from her as Sam laid back down.  He set the gun down on the table, his hand resting next to it.  </p><p><br/> “So…Why were you attacking leviathans?  I’ve never seen another monster mess with them.”</p><p><br/> Ash narrowed her eyes.  “You’d prefer I let them harvest you all like cattle instead?”</p><p><br/> Dean blinked.  “No, I didn’t mean…Alright, so you want them gone, and so do we; that doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.  Listen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from a lifetime of hunting, it’s this: It’s the two of us” he gestured to Sam and himself “versus all of you creepy-crawlies.  None of you are on our side, I guarantee it.”  He leaned forward.  “So, who’re you working for?”</p><p><br/> Ash hesitated, her eyes fixed on the gun.  </p><p><br/> Dean sighed and pulled the silver knife from his belt.  “Okay, I’m sick of this ‘good cop’ bullshit.”  He stood so fast he knocked his chair over, darting forward and grabbing the girl’s wrist.  To be honest, he wanted to get a reaction out of her—the whole ‘damsel in distress’ act was killing him.  A normal shape-shifter, or whatever she was, should be grinning maniacally, taunting them, anything; they were a cocky bunch of bastards that could rip a man’s arms off with their bare hands.  He knew he was exhausted: he’d been up for the past 48 hours, barely had a thing in his stomach besides whiskey and beer, and pushed himself too far physically as far as his arms were concerned.  But he’d rather fight a monster any day over playing a fucking mind game with one.  He just needed her to snap, and he’d be back in familiar territory.  </p><p><br/> The girl froze.  </p><p><br/> Someone banged on the door, startling everyone inside.</p><p> <br/> “POLICE!  OPEN UP!”</p><p><br/>Dean glanced over to Sam, who had rolled onto his side but was pretty well out of it.  He’d taken all the good drugs in their arsenal.  </p><p><br/> “Shit.”  Dean let go of the shifter, grabbed the gun, and shoved both weapons into his pants.  He did a quick scan of the room for other weapons, throwing an old shirt over Sam’s gun, and cracked the door open.  “Evening, officers.  Can I help you?”</p><p><br/> They presented their badges, which looked legit.  “We need to inspect your room, sir,” one of them said.  </p><p><br/> “Uh…Yeah, come in,” Dean said, knowing they were coming in one way or another.  Leviathans? He wondered.  They had a few gallons of Borax fluid back by the bathroom, and two machetes in the duffel bag by the door, but there were three officers and one of him, now that Sam was down for the count.  The shifter might try fighting them again, but she’d passed out after her last transformation, so she was likely running on fumes, too.  </p><p><br/> A tall, muscular cop spotted Ash.  “Yeah, that’s her.  Frank, Rob, you handle the boys.  The one that answered the door, he’s the one that brought her in.”</p><p><br/> Dean was ushered over to sit on the edge of Sam’s bed; Sam was awake, but barely coherent.  He’d lost a lot of blood and would need, at the very least, an IV drip when all this was taken care of.  Dean glanced toward the jugs of cleaning fluid, only…What?  Fifteen feet away?  He could roll off the bed, grab one, tear off the lid…</p><p><br/> “So, what have you boys been up to this evening?  Partying hard?” Officer Frank said, pulling his attention back.</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Uh…Yeah, a little too hard in his case,” he grinned, nudging Sam’s leg.  Sam groaned in response.  </p><p><br/> Ash’s cop settled into the seat across from her.  “Miss, are you here of your own free will?”</p><p><br/> Ash glanced over to where the other cops were talking to Dean.  “Um…Yes?  I mean, what?  I’m sorry, I…”  She pressed her hand to her forehead.  “I had a few drinks, I’m not really thinking…Straight…”</p><p><br/> “We received a call regarding a possible abduction, Miss.  Someone says they saw a man of his description”--he poked his thumb over his shoulder toward Dean--“carrying an unconscious naked woman of your description out of the back of a car and bringing her into this room.  Do you know these men?”</p><p><br/> You’re going to run into the Winchesters.  You can be honest with them, though they won’t trust you.  And take care of them—they’re idiots.  Got a damn revolving door for them in heaven and Hell, can’t keep the damn things from dying.  But try.</p><p><br/> “I…Yes, of course I know them.  We were…We’re in town visiting one of Sam’s college friends—he’s the one lying down—and things got a little crazy.  I don’t normally drink, I’m a total lightweight, but they had these amazing mango margaritas…”  She tried to focus on what Dean was telling the other cops, but she couldn’t listen and talk at the same time, and her officer was studying her closely, like he thought she’d really been abducted and now felt the need to defend her abductors.  Okay, so technically she had been abducted and was defending her abductors, but it’s what He would want her to do…  “So I guess I started taking my clothes off, and that’s when Dean decided I’d had enough—he’s the one your other officers are talking to, he’s…” she hesitated.  What is the least weird thing he could be?  “My boyfriend,” she decided.  “He brought me back to the car—not sure where my clothes ended up—and I passed right out.  Woke up back here, threw up, and I feel loads better.  Still a little wonky though, you know?  And…Embarrassed, that his brother and all his friends saw me dancing around naked…And, apparently, someone else in the hotel.”  She looked down at her hands, trying to look ashamed with herself.  </p><p><br/> “Ah?” the cop replied, looking slightly confused.  “Right.  And you…You just have the one room?”</p><p><br/> Ash looked up at him.  “Yes.  Why?”</p><p><br/> “Well, isn’t it…Awkward…Sharing a room with your boyfriend’s brother?”</p><p><br/> “Oh!  No, um…”  She blushed.  “We’ve got a system.  And he’s a very heavy sleeper.”</p><p><br/> The cop raised his eyebrows, then started to laugh.  “The old ‘sock on the door trick’ still works, eh?”  </p><p><br/> Ash had no idea what that meant, but she smiled since the officer was smiling.  </p><p><br/> “Well, I’m sorry to have intruded on your evening.”  He stood up and motioned to his co-workers.  </p><p><br/> “No problem at all, officer,” Ash smiled.  “That…Would have looked very suspicious, I’m sure.  Bringing a naked girl back to a cheap hotel…Could have walked in on a much different story, right?”</p><p><br/> All three officers were now glaring at Dean.  “Yeah…All too often, kid.  Anyway, have a pleasant evening.”</p><p><br/> The police left in a flurry of grunts and glares.  Dean locked the door behind them and turned to the shifter, who was still sitting at the table.  He pulled the gun out again, keeping it aimed at the floor.  She looked even paler than earlier, though she seemed just as relieved as he was that the cops were gone.  </p><p><br/> “Thought the Levis had found us,” Dean mumbled.  He moved toward her slowly, like a handler approaching a snake.  </p><p><br/> “They weren’t leviathans.  I can smell the difference.”</p><p><br/> “Oh?  That’s handy.  You know what else is handy?  That Sam and I weren’t just arrested for abducting you.”</p><p><br/> Ash snorted.  “Is that what you wanted me to tell them?  You wanted to go to jail?”</p><p><br/> “Of course not!  But you’d be free then.  Isn’t that…Look, I’m holding you at gunpoint!  With silver bullets!  You should be trying to escape!  You should be trying to kill us!”</p><p><br/> She sighed.  “I’m here to kill leviathans, not humans.”</p><p><br/> “So get us locked up and then go be free.  Now you’re stuck here with us.  What kind of game plan is that?”</p><p><br/> “Stop giving her pointers, Dean,” Sam mumbled from the bed.</p><p><br/> “No, I want to know what kind of game you’re playing.”  He raised the gun to point directly at her.  “And why you won’t fight back!” </p><p><br/> “Crowley,” she snapped.</p><p><br/> Dean froze.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “I’m working for Crowley.  He sent me here to take out the leviathans, and said I had to help you if I found you.”</p><p><br/> There was a loud thump as Sam fell out of bed.  “I’m okay!”</p><p><br/> Dean took another step toward her.  “Crowley sent you here to help us?  Crowley doesn’t help anybody but himself.”</p><p><br/> “He wants the leviathans gone.  He can’t stick his demons on them, it’ll cause an all-out war he’s not sure he’ll win.  You guys know what they’re doing, and how to kill them.  He just…Thinks you need help.”</p><p><br/> Sam weaved drunkenly across the room to them and collapsed in the other chair.</p><p> <br/> “Sam, go lie down!  I’ve got this.”</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed his shoulder and winced.  “I think I opened it back up when I fell…”</p><p><br/> Dean glanced from Sam to Ash.  She sniffed the air again, like a dog.  </p><p><br/> “Yes,” she confirmed, “you’re bleeding again.”</p><p><br/> “Shit.”  Dean glared at Ash in what he hoped was a threatening manner.  “Stay.”</p><p><br/> He stuck the gun back in his waistband, then dragged Sam back to bed and redressed his shoulder.  He hooked him up to an IV bag, passing the time by arguing with him about Crowley.  There was no right answer, but it seemed inevitable that they would be cooperating with him.  They both needed the leviathans out of the picture, and, as hard as it was to admit, they could use all the help they could get.  True, one shifter wasn’t much of an advantage, but she did have an aptitude for killing.  That could be a pro or a con, depending on who she was trying to kill…</p><p><br/> As Dean hooked the IV bag onto a light fixture over the bed, he heard a soft thump from the kitchenette.  He snapped his head up and drew his gun, cursing under his breath: The girl had disappeared.  He darted over to the table, steeling himself for a fight, but he needn’t have bothered: She had fallen off her chair and was passed out on the floor.  </p><p><br/> “What is it?” Sam called over, trying to sit up.</p><p><br/> “She’s out cold.  Again.”  He slid her over to the wall and hauled her into a seated position, then grabbed a glass of water and flicked some of it onto her face.  “Come on, Toothless, rise and shine.”</p><p><br/> Ash groaned, wiping the water from her face.  She opened her eyes slowly, gradually focusing on Dean.  He pressed the glass into her hand.  <br/> “Drink.”</p><p><br/> She sniffed the water, then took a tentative sip.  Satisfied that it wasn’t anything dangerous, she drank the rest of it quickly.  <br/> “Better?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.</p><p><br/> “Right.  Here’s the plan: I’m fuckin’ exhausted, and so’s Sam.  I can’t trust you, and I can’t stay up 72 hours straight to keep an eye on you.  So here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m going to cuff you to that bed”—he gestured to the empty bed—“with these.”  He held out a pair of handcuffs.  “They’re made from a silver alloy.  They’ll sting a little, but there’s not enough silver in them to really hurt you—just enough to stop you from shifting out of them.  We all get to sleep, and everybody’s happy.  That work for you?”</p><p><br/> Ash stared at the handcuffs, her head still fuzzy.  “Um.”  She looked up at Dean: He looked tough and intimidating, but his eyes were tired.  He’s not doing this to be mean, she told herself.  He’s doing what he thinks he has to do to protect himself and his brother.  “Fine.”</p><p><br/> That seemed to surprise him, but he looked relieved.  “Great.”  He stood and grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet.  She swayed, her vision filling with light; she shook her head, blinking to clear her eyes, and let Dean lead her over to the bed.  </p><p><br/> He retrieved the cuffs, motioning for Ash to hold out her hand.  He snapped one end shut over her wrist, and she winced at the sensation of silver alloy against her skin.  It didn’t burn like pure silver, but it was still unpleasant, like her hand was being held in the middle of a hot oven.  Her skin started to turn red, like a sunburn, and peel around the edges of the cuff.  She grunted in surprise and gritted her teeth.</p><p><br/> Dean touched the red patch on the back of her wrist experimentally.  Her skin turned white when he removed his fingers, then back to red as his fingerprint faded, just like a regular sunburn.  “You good?”  </p><p><br/>He was having a lot of conflicting thoughts that he didn’t appreciate.  When he’d used the cuffs before, it was on a real ass of a shifter, a guy who’d slaughtered over a dozen children, four mothers, and one police officer before they caught him—just for the hell of it.  It was all a sick game to him, and Dean had wanted to drive a silver knife through his heart more than anything.  But he’d been playing his game against two other shifters, looking to see who could score the most kills without getting caught, and the other two had still been at large when they caught this one.  He’d held him for questioning, and when he’d slapped the cuffs on him then he’d taken joy in the superficial pain they’d caused him.  But this girl…He wasn’t so sure.  He knew shifters were evil, and if she really was working for Crowley then surely that made her doubly evil; but right now she was weak, clearly no threat to either him or Sam, and she’d been…Fairly cooperative, he had to admit.  Was he really going to hurt her just because he could, because he knew that eventually she would turn on them, and he might as well get the first punch in while he could?  He’d always taken pride in being better than the shit he hunted—he maintained the moral high ground by maintaining a certain amount of ethics.  The bad guys, they shot first, killed for pleasure and asked questions later; but the good guys, like him, asked questions first and shot later.  Granted, it was a lot of effort and sometimes resulted in death, but that was the price for being good.  It’s what separated the humans from the demons, and God knew he needed to maintain a shred of humanity.  </p><p><br/> All that was to say, he wasn’t sure how he felt about putting the cuffs on Ash when she hadn’t, technically speaking, done anything evil yet apart from existing.  God, he was tired.  </p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  Dean hooked the other end of the cuffs to one of the metal rails on the headboard, double-checking that both ends were secured.  He moved across to Sam’s bed, motioning for him to scoot over a little so he could lie down next to him, and switched off the lights.  Ash maneuvered so that she was curled up under the covers, her restrained arm under her pillow. The metal itched like hell, but she was so tired, she felt like she could sleep through anything right now.  She eyed Dean warily, who was eyeing her warily.  Not keen to engage in an all-night staring contest, Ash tilted her head slightly to break her gaze.  Overall, meeting the Winchesters had gone…Rather well, she supposed, in the sense that she hadn’t been shot at or stabbed.  And they hadn’t turned down her offer to help.  Maybe, apart from the blatant speciesism, paranoia, and violence, these humans wouldn’t turn out to be so bad after all.  </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2: Salem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Salem</p><p><br/> Light was streaming through the edges of the drapes when Ash finally woke up.  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep for, but it didn’t feel like long enough.  She had a pounding headache, her throat was dry, and it felt like someone had individually punched every molecule of every muscle in her body.  It was the price of massive shifts, she knew; she should have eaten a lot last night, and drank a lot of water, but all she’d gotten was the one glass of water from the Winchester and the little bits of leviathan she hadn’t been able to spit back out--they tasted like rotten corpses.  Also, her right arm was fluctuating between being numb and being on fire.  </p><p><br/> She sat up slowly, feeling nauseous as she moved, and inspected her arm.  Close to the handcuff, her skin was red and blistered; her hand and forearm were blotchier, like a rash.  </p><p><br/> The metal cuff clinked against the bed frame, waking Dean.  He bolted upright, automatically grabbing the knife.</p><p><br/> Ash went still, her eyes locked on the silver blade.  Dean relaxed when he saw that she was still safely locked in place and hadn’t transformed into something with large, pointy teeth; then he saw her arm.</p><p><br/> He swung his feet over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes, and switched on the light.  “Wow.  Didn’t expect that to happen,” he said, studying the afflicted arm.  “I’ve never used ‘em for more than a couple hours at most.  Hang tight, I’ll get the key.”  </p><p><br/> As Dean stood up, Sam groaned and rolled over, pulling the IV needle from the back of his hand.  “What’s going on?  Did it escape?”</p><p><br/> “No, she’s still here.”  He sat down on the edge of her bed, key in hand.  “You pull any shit, I will coat you in silver, do you understand?”</p><p><br/> She nodded and held still.  He unlocked the cuff and she breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against the headboard and rubbing the afflicted area gently.  </p><p><br/> Dean ordered Sam to babysit while he grabbed a shower, then vice versa.  Sam was feeling better, though the bite wound on his shoulder was still in rough shape.  They still needed a way to end the leviathans for good: The trick they pulled last time wouldn’t work, since, as far as they knew, all the Alphas were dead.  There was nothing in the lore to help them—all they knew about the creatures they’d gotten from the leviathan tablet anyway, and God didn’t seem to have a “Plan B” for them.  They would just have to keep plugging away at them, one by one, until a solution presented itself or they died.  One or the other wouldn’t take too long—it never did.  </p><p><br/> “What do we do about her?” Sam asked his brother in a hushed tone.</p><p><br/> “We can’t let her go,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “No.  Definitely not.  But…”</p><p><br/> “But?”</p><p><br/> “She’s working for Crowley, right?  Now, I don’t know how it works since she’s not a demon, but you can bet he’s got some kind of direct line to her.  We keep her with us, that means he’s got a direct line to us.”</p><p><br/> “Yes.  But—We use the usual anti-demon shit, so he shouldn’t actually be able to reach us.  Meanwhile, we have someone that’s at least semi-valuable to him.”</p><p><br/> “Unless he sends his most disposable agents to us, knowing we’re going to gank them.”</p><p><br/> “Most disposable?  She can turn into a dragon!  A freaking dragon!”</p><p><br/> “Okay, so where does that leave us as far as a plan?”</p><p><br/> They looked at each other, then at the girl, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed.  </p><p><br/> “We keep her,” they said simultaneously.  </p><p><br/> Sam sat down next to her and held out his hand.  “Let me see.”</p><p><br/> She eyed him suspiciously, but he wasn’t holding any silver.  He gripped her forearm gently and ran his hand over the angry red patches of skin, looking for any sign of infection.  He tested the mobility of her wrist, bending her hand forward; she flinched and jerked her arm back reflexively.  Sam released her.</p><p><br/> “It’s like a really bad sunburn,” he mused.  </p><p><br/> As it turned out, the Winchesters weren’t entirely bad; Sam found some aloe in their extensive first-aid kit, and Dean brought breakfast back from a local diner—though technically, due to the time, it was more of a lunch.  They all sat down at the tiny kitchenette table, and Ash got to try her first ever fresh cheeseburger.</p><p><br/> “Not that I really want to know the answer to this, but what have you been eating this whole time?  I can’t believe you’ve been alive this long without trying a burger,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “Oh, I’ve eaten burgers—just…Bits of them.”  She waved her hand vaguely.  “I got scraps as a dog, or sometimes I’d find a wrapper in an alley with a bit of something left in it…”</p><p><br/> “You ate trash.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I was a dog.  That’s kind of their thing.  Dog food, trash, scraps…”</p><p><br/> “Yum.”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “I thought so.”  </p><p><br/> “It’s so nice to see everyone getting along,” Crowley said.</p><p><br/> Dean gagged halfway through taking a swig of beer, somehow managing to spit half out while the other half sprayed out his nose.  Sam shot to his feet so fast he knocked his chair over.  </p><p><br/> Crowley leaned casually against the counter, looking professional as usual in his black suit.  He smiled and nodded at Ash, who looked a bit like a teenager whose parent had suddenly shown up to chaperone the prom: Half guilty-looking and half embarrassed.  </p><p> <br/> “You’re still in one piece,” he said, ignoring the clinking sound of the Winchesters drawing their weapons.  “What happened there?”  He gestured with one hand and Ash’s burnt arm raised automatically.  She reached up with her good hand in an attempt to lower it.  </p><p><br/> “It’s fine.”</p><p><br/> “Silver poisoning?”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Bit harsh, even for you boys.  She did say she was here to help, didn’t she?”</p><p><br/> “What do you want, Crowley?” Dean growled, fist clenched around the demon knife.  </p><p><br/> “Just checking in.  I wanted to make sure you got the present I sent you.”</p><p><br/> Sam scoffed.  “Her?”</p><p><br/> Crowley crossed his arms across his chest.  “She can take out leviathans, and she follows orders.  You won’t find a better weapon against them.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, great, she follows your orders.  We’re not idiots.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, I beg to differ.”  </p><p><br/> Dean lunged forward, but halfway to the demon he froze in place.  The knife turned red-hot, and he dropped it with a clatter on the floor.</p><p> <br/> “I’m trying to help you, Squirrel.”</p><p><br/> “And when do you ever do anything without asking for something in return?”</p><p><br/> Crowley sighed.  “We both want the same thing.  The leviathans need to go.  Now.  You’ve been…Taking too long.  You need a little nudge in the right direction.  She’ll help you,” he said, nodding to Ash.  “Play nice with her, and she’ll do whatever you say.”  Crowley spread his hands.  “See?  No contracts, no deals, no fine print.  Just one shape-shifter, at your service.  You get rid of Dick, I’ll take her back off your hands.  Everybody wins.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both glared at him, but again he chose to ignore it.  </p><p><br/> “Oh, and one more thing: She’s not going to run and she’s not going to eat you, so ease up on the bondage stuff.  I need her in fighting condition.”  He patted her on the head, then turned to Sam and Dean.  “I also have a quick update, vis-à-vis our deadline.  You have until February 14.  Now, I know that’s three months from now, but this isn’t a school paper, alright?  No need to save it for the last minute.”</p><p><br/> Sam clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm.  “And what happens on February 14?”</p><p><br/> Crowley smiled.  “No idea.  I would imagine it involves the lot of you turning into Leviathan Chow, but I’m not privy to the details.  Had to torture three of the bastards just to get that much from them.”</p><p><br/> “So,” Dean said, “If we don’t find a way to kill Dick Roman by…Valentine’s Day…The Leviathans take over the planet, and we all lose.”</p><p><br/> “Yep.  Clock’s running.  I’ll leave you to it, then.”  </p><p><br/> Crowley vanished.  Dean retrieved his knife from the floor and grabbed his beer, glaring at the spot where he’d stood a moment before.  Sam sat down in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.  </p><p><br/>  “Right,” Dean said after a healthy swig of beer.  “Three months.  We can do this.”</p><p><br/> “How can we do this, Dean?  We’ve been looking for a way to kill them for…Well, since we knew they were back.”</p><p><br/> “We’ll do it because we always do it.”</p><p><br/> Sam laughed.  “Yeah, at the last friggin’ minute.”</p><p><br/> “See?  It’ll be fine.”  He sat down at the table.  “But for now, they’re not going anywhere, so we might as well eat.”  </p><p><br/> “That warehouse was full of food,” Ash mused as they ate.  </p><p><br/> “What?” Dean said, pausing mid-chew.</p><p><br/> “Isn’t that weird?  What would leviathans want with a ton of regular food?  It’s not like they eat it.”</p><p><br/> “What kind of food?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “Lots of stuff.  Um…”  She tilted her head back, trying to remember.  “Chocolate…Granola bars…Cereal…Baking mixes…Pasta sauce, I think.  I didn’t get a chance to look at everything.”</p><p><br/> “You don’t think they’d try to dumb people down through food again, do you?” Sam sighed.  “There’s no way they’d pull the same trick twice.”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “It was working pretty well for them last time.  Don’t see why they wouldn’t start there again.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, we’ll keep an eye out for weird food-related stuff,” Sam said, eyeing his burger suspiciously.  It refused to divulge any secrets.</p><p> </p><p> After they’d eaten, Sam settled into his regular research mode, leaving Dean to deal with their newest addition.<br/> “Do you have your own clothes stashed somewhere?  Cause right now, you literally do look like you’ve been abducted.”</p><p><br/> “Yes.  There’s an old house on the side of the highway, about a mile out of town.  I can run and grab it—”</p><p><br/> “I’ll take you,” Dean said, grabbing his jacket and keys.  </p><p><br/> “I can do it myself, it won’t take long.”</p><p><br/> “No offense, but I still don’t trust you.  You might have noticed, Crowley lies.”</p><p><br/> Ash huffed.  “Alright.  I’ll show you.”</p><p><br/> He gave her Sam’s jacket to wear, but there was nothing they could do about her feet: Neither one of them had shoes even remotely close to her size.  She scurried over the cold pavement of the parking lot on the balls of her feet, tucking her feet under her as soon as she got into the car.</p><p> <br/> “So, how’d a shapeshifter end up working for the king of Hell?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> Ash shrugged.  “He raised me.  Taught me to fight.”</p><p><br/> “He raised you?  Like…Like a parent?”</p><p><br/> She suddenly became very interested in the view from her window.  “He…Oversaw my upbringing.  I’m not around him that much—just to train.”</p><p><br/> “Uh-huh.  So you can turn into a dragon—can you turn into anything?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “Lots of things.  Any animal that is or ever was on Earth.  Some are harder to do than others.”</p><p><br/> “Anything that was.  So could you turn into a dinosaur?  Like one of those raptors from Jurassic Park?”  </p><p><br/> “Yeah.”</p><p><br/> Dean smiled.  That, I need to see.  Too bad she’s one of Crowley’s minions and I’ll have to kill her eventually.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The house was more run-down than Dean had expected.  The front porch was caving in, there was plywood on all the windows, and the roof was sagging.  It looked like it would collapse completely if he kicked it.  Could be a set-up, he reminded himself, keeping one hand on his gun as he stepped out of the car.  He followed Ash around to the back of the house, where the steps were in slightly better shape, and grabbed a flashlight from his pocket.  With all the windows boarded up, the interior was dark and musty.  He’d been in plenty of old, run-down houses, mostly while hunting for ghosts, and this one was one of the worst.  Teenagers wouldn’t even come here to drink and have sex, he thought, for fear that the whole thing would come down on top of them.  </p><p><br/> “How long have you been staying here?” he asked, his voice echoing eerily in the empty rooms.</p><p><br/> “Two days.”</p><p><br/> Ash retrieved a large leather satchel from a corner, slipping the strap over her shoulder.  </p><p><br/> “Okay, let’s go.”</p><p><br/> Dean stared at the bag.  “That’s it?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  </p><p><br/> “Let me see.”  He put his hand out, motioning for her to hand it over.</p><p><br/> “What?  Why?”</p><p><br/> “So I can check it for weird shit.  Hand it over.”</p><p><br/> Ash complied, scowling, and watched as Dean upended her bag onto the floor.  He felt along the bag’s lining for hidden compartments, then began picking through her things.  There was a pair of flats, jeans, two shirts, and a light jacket.  Non-clothing items included a small zipped bag with toothbrush, toothpaste, and a travel hairbrush; a cellphone and charger; and a dog collar and leash.  There was a tag on the collar that said ‘Ash’ on one side, and the number “666” on the other.  Hello, King of Hell?  I found your dog.  </p><p><br/> Dean threw everything back into the bag and handed it back to her.  “Let’s go.”  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Back at the hotel, Ash changed into her own clothes, and Sam and Dean discussed their next move.  Roman’s parent company was buying up smaller corporations left and right: Research and development, manufacturing, transportation, hospitality, and half a dozen restaurant chains.  There was nothing concrete to go after, though, no big red buttons saying, ‘press here to destroy leviathans.’  They settled on taking a case in Salem, MA, where all kinds of strange deaths had just started popping up.  If it wasn’t connected to the levis, at least it would keep them busy until they figured something else out.</p><p><br/> Dean swapped cars, determined to keep Dick off their tails, and they set out for Massachusetts.  Ash sat quietly in the back seat, listening to the boys argue about music.  Much of the ride was just filled with classic rock, most of which Ash hadn’t heard before.  Living as a cat or a dog, she didn’t exactly get to choose the radio stations growing up.  </p><p><br/> Occasionally, Sam or Dean would start to say something, then glance back at her and change the subject.  They didn’t direct any conversation at her until they stopped for a late dinner at a truck stop in Connecticut, where it would have been rude not to acknowledge her at the table.  </p><p><br/> “So, Ash,” Sam began,  “What were you up to before the leviathans came back?”</p><p><br/> Dean gave his brother a Look.  “She’s not going to tell you.”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “I’m just being friendly.  We have to work with her, might as well learn something about her.”</p><p><br/> Ash glanced from one brother to the other, then cleared her throat.  “I, um…I was a dog for a while.  Had a nice family, with kids and everything.  Then another family, with a farm.  I moved around every couple years, just in case anyone was looking for me.  Sometimes I was a cat instead.”</p><p><br/> “I thought you were working for Crowley, though?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “I do what he tells me to do.  Up till the Leviathans showed up, he’s mostly told me to stay out of trouble.”</p><p><br/> “Did he ever tell you to kill anyone?” Dean asked.  Sam smacked his arm.  “What?  Just getting to know her.”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “I don’t kill humans.”</p><p><br/> “Right.  Sure.”</p><p><br/> Ash straightened.  “I don’t—it’s a rule.  Crowley says I’m not allowed to kill people.”</p><p><br/> Dean eyed her suspiciously—there was something she wasn’t telling them, something important.  He’d get it out of her one way or another.  Even if he had to be less than friendly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Sam took the night shift, driving while Dean slept.  Ash slipped her shoes off and laid down across the back seat, using her bag as a pillow.  She would have been more comfortable in another form, but Dean was set on his ‘no dogs in the car’ rule, and she assumed the edict spread to all non-human lifeforms.  </p><p><br/> They arrived in Salem mid-morning and were greeted with chaos.  It was three days before Halloween, and no one did Halloween quite like the town that was famous for its witches.  People filled the streets and shops, many in costumes, and every shop had a sign out front advertising psychic readings or a haunted tour.  Dean located an appropriately sketchy and cheap motel, the only one in town that wasn’t fully booked for the festivities.  He and Sam changed into their FBI getups, then turned their attention once more to Ash.  They couldn’t take her with them as a civilian, but Dean was reluctant to leave her behind.  He felt that there was too much trouble she could cause in a crowded tourist trap.</p><p> <br/> “Look, I get that you don’t trust me.  Fine.  What if I could come with you and not throw off your FBI thing?”</p><p><br/> “How?”</p><p><br/> She pulled the collar out of her bag.  “Working dog.”</p><p><br/> “No.  No dogs.”</p><p><br/> Sam took the collar, looking at the tag.  “It could work, Dean.  I’ll take her, I like dogs.”</p><p><br/> Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Fine.  We’ll bring her as a dog.”  He gave her a stern glare.  “One wrong move out of you, and—”</p><p><br/> “You’ll kill me.  Yes, I know.”  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> The deaths were unusual, as far as deaths went, but they seemed downright mild compared to the brutal gore Sam and Dean were used to.  Five people had eaten until their stomachs exploded, causing sepsis.  Thirteen homicides had been reported, all involving grisly, but definitely human, murders.  In all 13 cases, the attacker had continued to beat the victim after death, as if they’d become an actual human punching bag.  One victim had over sixty stab wounds.  </p><p><br/> Not all the weirdness had resulted in death, they discovered.  Six people had been admitted to the hospital in coma-like states, though they seemed perfectly healthy.  It was as if they’d just…Stopped moving.  Their eyes were open and responsive, but no amount of effort from the doctors could get them to walk or talk.  No drugs were found in any of their systems.  </p><p><br/> Then there were the robberies: every local bank had been hit at least twice in the past two weeks.  Four suspects had been arrested, though the heists continued.  None of the accused had a previous record.  There had also been a rise in burglaries in the nicer neighborhoods.  </p><p><br/> Five women and two men had been reported missing, and existing evidence suggested kidnapping on all seven of them.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> That evening, Dean scoped out the local bars while Sam hunkered down in their room, doing research.  Ash had discovered that Sam was calmer and happier when she was a dog, so she’d stuck to being a German Shepherd, lying at his feet while he worked.  He talked to her about what he was looking for, and she noticed that his voice was a little higher when dealing with ‘dog Ash.’  She could get used to this whole ‘dog person’ thing.  </p><p><br/> “Okay, so…Not a witch, not a ghost, not a demon…Could be one of the pagan gods, or…Maybe Egyptian?”  He’d been through his father’s journal with no luck, called Garth, and Googled the shit out of everything he could think of.  Individually, each event could be ascribed to something; but together, it made no sense.  “Unless…Unless there’s a bunch of different shit running around at the same time.”  That was highly implausible—they rarely got even two different supernatural phenomena at once, let alone dozens of distinct creepy-crawlies.  They didn’t like the competition.  </p><p><br/> “Oookay.”  He grabbed a blank piece of paper and started to write on it.  “Wicked Good Wiccan restaurant: Two vics went there that we know of.  Salem House of Pizza: Three vics.  Salem’s Premier Wax Museum: Four vics.  Salem Wax Works: One vic.  Ugh, this is stupid!  None of this makes any kind of sense.”  He flipped the paper over.  “Female…That’s…23.  Men…22.  Crap.”  He ran a hand through his hair.  “Tourist…Tourist…Tourist…Local…Tourist…Local…Local…Shit.  What the crap do you all have in common?”  </p><p><br/> By the time Dean got back, he still hadn’t made any progress, other than driving himself insane.  He was feeling just as crazy.  </p><p><br/> “Everyone in this town is insane,” he said, collapsing on his bed.  “No one should be this excited about Halloween.  I went to three different bars, and everyone thinks all the weird shit is being caused by a vengeful witch who died in the witch trials.  They’re excited about it.  Think it’s so ‘cool’ that the town’s being attacked by a real witch.  And people apparently suck at drinking—bartender at one joint had to call 911 twice for alcohol poisoning.”  He sat up, looking alarmed.  “Where’s the shifter?”</p><p><br/> “She’s right here.”</p><p><br/> Ash barked, announcing her presence under the table.  </p><p><br/> “Oh.  She’s, uh…Still a dog.”</p><p><br/> Ash whined, and Sam reached down to pat her head.  “Don’t take it personally.”</p><p><br/> “You know she’s not really a dog.”</p><p><br/> “She spent years as a dog.  She’s as much a dog as she is a human.”</p><p> “Yeah, but she’s not human, either.  She’s a shifter.  Remember why she’s here, Sammy.”</p><p><br/> Sam straightened.  “I’m not stupid, Dean.  Maybe you should stop judging her for what she is, and pull that giant stick out of your ass.”</p><p><br/> Dean shot to his feet.  “Excuse me?  She is here because of Crowley, in case you forgot.  Head demon and king of Hell.”</p><p><br/> “And Crowley needs us to get rid of Dick.  As long as he’s alive, she’s not a threat.”</p><p><br/> “So, what—we should all be pals?  Because that’s worked so well for us in the past.”</p><p><br/> “Come on, Dean.”</p><p><br/> Dean sat down across from him at the table, stealing his beer.  “Fine.  I will work on my acceptance of the situation.  When things turn to shit, just remember, I told you.”</p><p><br/> “Fine.”</p><p><br/> “But this better not turn into another Ruby deal.”</p><p><br/> Sam clenched his fists.  “Dean…”</p><p><br/> “Hey—if you’ll fuck a demon, a shifter’s practically the girl next door, right?”</p><p><br/> Sam wanted to punch his smug face so bad.  Why did he have to keep throwing Ruby in his face?  Dean was dead at the time!  He had no right to judge what Sam had done while he was in Hell.  Yes, his trust in Ruby had ultimately led to him freeing Lucifer from the cage, but he’d owned up to that, and put him back in!  </p><p><br/> “Fuck off, Dean.”  Sam grabbed his coat and headed for the door.  He wasn’t going to fight.  </p><p><br/> “Where are you going?”</p><p><br/> “Out.”  </p><p><br/> Ash looked from one brother to the other.  Which one was going to be less pleasant to be around for the next couple of hours?  As Sam opened the door, she bolted from under the table and darted past him; he didn’t even realize she’d come with him until he shut the door behind him.  </p><p><br/> He sighed.  “No.”</p><p><br/> She wagged her tail and whined, giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes she could muster.</p><p><br/> He smiled involuntarily.  “Fine.  At least you don’t talk.”  He pulled the leash from his pocket and clipped it onto her collar, and they set off down the street.</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> It was well past midnight, but the town was still bustling with tourists.  ‘Haunted’ tour groups, led by costumed guides with electric lanterns, roamed the sidewalks in clusters, and barflies wandered in and out of late-night joints.  There were even a few psychic shops still open, hoping to cash in on the season’s popularity.  Sam paused to listen to one of the tours, pulling his phone out so it didn’t look like he was eavesdropping.  </p><p><br/> “…And years later, they built a pub over it.  Patrons were always complaining of how cold it was, even in the heat of summer.  They would hear voices: The voices of the three sisters!”</p><p><br/> Sam kept moving.  He had no doubt that Salem would have its share of supernatural issues, given the amount of people who were killed there, but this was just another ghost story.  </p><p><br/> Maybe it really is dead witches?  He wound his way out of the touristy historical district until he came to a little park with a jogging path.  It was well-lit with lampposts, but completely deserted.  Finally, he thought.  He wasn’t wearing his running gear, but it’s not like there was a rule against running in jeans, right?  He took off his jacket, setting it down on a park bench, and hooked Ash’s leash to a belt loop so his hands were free.</p><p><br/> He felt clunky in his normal clothes, and he knew he was wearing the wrong shoes, but it still felt good to be moving.  He listened to the click-click-click of the dog’s nails on the pavement and the little jingle from her dog tag and found the noise comforting.  He’d always wanted a dog.  He’d had one, briefly, while he was off not being a hunter.  But Dean was strictly anti-dog: They smelled, they shed, and they required a lot of time and effort, things that they didn’t have as hunters.  Maybe someday, they wouldn’t have to be hunters anymore.  They could get out of the game, settle down, have actual relationships with real women that didn’t end magically at 5 am when it was time to move on to the next town.  They could get close to people and not have to worry about them dying horrible deaths in the near future (because when did that not happen).  Sam could run every day, with his dog, and he’d take her for rides in his car—not the Impala, that would stay with Dean, of course—and maybe that’s how he’d meet his future girlfriend/wife.  They’d be throwing a ball around at the park, he’d ‘accidentally’ throw it next to a hot young woman sitting under a tree, reading…Well, it didn’t matter what she was reading.  She could be reading Fifty Shades of Grey for all he cared, as long as she was cool with his dog.  And the dog would run up to her to grab the ball, and she’d pet her and start talking in that sing-song voice all women use on dogs; Sam would run over, ‘oh, I’m sorry, is my dog bothering you?’  And she’d smile up at him, ‘no, she’s beautiful.  What’s her name?’ because they always needed to know the dog’s name, and they’d go grab coffee—</p><p><br/> Sam tripped over a root in the dark, snapping him out of his reverie.  To avoid a full face-plant, he twisted to the side and rolled, which would have gone great had he not been attached to the dog.  He rolled onto the leash, yanking Ash down, and somehow managed to roll onto her.  She yelped in surprise; he scrambled to his feet, unhooking the leash.  </p><p><br/> “Shit, I’m sorry.  Are you okay?”</p><p><br/> She nodded, getting up and shaking herself off.  </p><p><br/> “Maybe we don’t need the leash, since there’s no one else out here.  Why don’t you do your own thing?  Just don’t leave the park.”</p><p><br/> She cocked her head at him as if to say, are you okay?</p><p><br/> “I’m fine.  Just bruised my ego.  I…Wasn’t paying attention.”</p><p><br/> Once she was satisfied that he wasn’t injured, Ash took off, kicking up dust and leaves as she ran.  It felt so good to just run for no reason.  For one moment, she could just exist, without having to worry about what anybody else wanted from her.  There were no leviathans, no angels or demons to worry about; she didn’t have to think about this idiotic cosmic chess game they were all playing.  She could just be a dog.  She left the path and took off across the field, feeling the grass under her paws, smelling a thousand things.  There had been people here earlier; she could smell them, their food, the things they’d walked through earlier; there were dogs, and squirrels, and birds; someone had spilled beer.  Everything was completely normal, and it was fantastic.  </p><p><br/> They’d been running for about twenty minutes when Ash heard the screams.  They were coming from the town center, back by the bars and tourist shops.  She skidded to a halt.  Had Sam heard?  He was on the opposite side of the park, hard to see, but she could smell him.  She doubted he’d be able to see her, so she barked to alert him to her location.</p><p><br/> “Ash?” </p><p><br/> She barked again, and he started jogging toward her.  By the time he’d caught up, she’d already grabbed his jacket, holding it in her jaws.  </p><p><br/> “What’s wrong?” Sam panted.  </p><p><br/> Ash whined and cocked her head toward town.  He could just barely hear people shouting in the distance.  </p><p><br/> “Trouble,” he confirmed, taking his jacket.  </p><p><br/> She barked, taking off toward the commotion.  Sam rolled his eyes and jogged after her.  The fantasy couldn’t last, could it?  He’d just been going over where he and his normal, imaginary family would go on their first vacation.  His pretend wife had wanted Mexico, but he didn’t want to deal with any chupacabras on what was supposed to be a fun getaway, so they’d eventually settled on Germany, mostly for the beer.  Dean and his long-term girlfriend would come with them, and maybe they’d do a small tour of western Europe (he decided Dean wouldn’t be married yet, it would take him a long time to be comfortable with that kind of commitment to another person).  </p><p><br/> A small crowd had gathered in an alley between magic shops.  Sam lost sight of Ash, but he wasn’t worried about her causing trouble at this point.  He used his FBI badge to push through to the front of the crowd; police weren’t even there yet, though many people had called 911.  Two girls in their early 20’s were crying over a body in the alley, and a pale, shaky man of about the same age was standing slightly to the side, phone gripped tightly in his fist.  </p><p><br/> Sam kept his badge out.  “What happened?”</p><p><br/> The girls scooted to the side, and he could tell immediately that there was no saving this guy.  His limbs were all facing the wrong way, like someone had just dumped him out of a window.  His skull was cracked, and blood puddled around his head and shoulders.  </p><p><br/> Between sobs, one of the girls managed to get the story out: Ben, the deceased, was big into parkour.  It was the sort of thing people did in cities when they were crazy and didn’t fear death, or at least that’s how Sam saw it.  But Ben had different ambitions.  He wanted to start ‘historical’ parkour, where an athlete would make their way over and around historical landmarks.  There was an added layer of difficulty with old structures, as they weren’t as structurally stable, and also it was sometimes illegal to be on the structures themselves.  All the old buildings in Salem were so close together, he figured he could do it.  He’d slipped on an old slate shingle, as far as they could tell, and failed to make the jump across the alley.</p><p><br/> “He was really amazing,” she simpered.  “It was really a matter of pride for him.”</p><p><br/> “Pride goeth before the fall,” Sam quoted.  </p><p><br/> In the shadow of a trash can, a dog had an epiphany.</p><p><br/> The police and medics showed up, and Sam took off.  Ash appeared at his side once more.  </p><p><br/> “So…This was just a crazy accident, right?  It’s not like it’s related to all the other crazy…Accidents…”</p><p><br/> Dean was still awake when they got home, looking over Sam’s notes.  Both of them started talking at the same time and paused; Sam motioned for Dean to go first.</p><p><br/> “Look, I’m sorry.  I know you learned your lesson with Ruby, I don’t mean to keep throwing it in your face.  It’s just…Ever since we were little, it’s been my job to take care of you, and I can’t do that if you’re man-whoring yourself out to monsters.”  He looked at him carefully.  “Speaking of which, why’re you all sweaty?  I thought you were just going for a walk.”  </p><p><br/> “Run,” Sam snapped, annoyed that his brother’s ‘apology’ still managed to take a dig at him.  “And we came across another death.  Parkour gone wrong.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s brain screeched to a halt, reversed, and caught back up.  “Parkour…That’s leaping off of buildings and shit, right?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  This guy ate it on a two-story jump.”</p><p><br/> Ash disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing momentarily as a fully clothed human.  “Pride.  She said it was pride.”</p><p><br/> Dean looked blank.</p><p><br/> “Yeah, the girl with him said it was a matter of pride for him.  Why?”</p><p><br/> Ash went to the table and started pulling cases.  “Gluttony,” she said, picking up a file on stomach explosion.  “Wrath,” she pointed to a homicide with multiple stab wounds.  “Greed,” she held up a bank robbery, “and I bet those kidnappings are envy.  Sloth, that’s the coma-like patients.  Dean, you said people at the bar were getting sick from drinking too much?  I bet they prided themselves on being able to drink more than anyone else.  And this parkour guy—pride.”  She stood back, looking pleased with herself.  Sam and Dean just looked confused.</p><p><br/> “Alright, so we’re looking at sins.  What does that mean?”</p><p><br/> Sam stared at all their paperwork.  “Demons?  They like sin.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, but this isn’t really their deal, is it?”</p><p><br/> “Guys,” Ash said.  “The seven deadly sins…You know they’re actual people, right?”</p><p><br/> “Excuse me?”</p><p><br/> “You’ve met the four horsemen already.  These guys are like…Lesser versions of the horsemen.”</p><p><br/> Dean took a swig from his flask.  “Okay.  Fine.  I can believe that.  What the hell are they doing here?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “It’s Halloween in a witch town.  Someone was probably goofing around with something they didn’t understand and summoned them from Hell.”</p><p><br/> “Awesome.”</p><p><br/> “So how do we destroy them?” Sam asked.  “Or at least get them back to Hell?”</p><p><br/> “I don’t know.”</p><p><br/> “Hold on, isn’t this a conflict of interest for you?” Dean asked, circling around her.  “Is your boss really going to want you to gank some of his top players?”</p><p><br/> Ash straightened.  “My orders are to help you.  If this is what you’re doing, then it’s what I’m doing.  And, for the record, you can’t get rid of sin.  Well, you could, but you’d have to kill every human on the planet.  It’s sort of hard-wired in.  So all we’d be doing is locking them back up where they belong.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, so let me get this straight: There are seven of these guys, and they’re running around Salem encouraging people to…What?  Give in to their darkest desires?”</p><p><br/> “Basically.  I think they work by suppressing your inhibitions: Concerns for your own safety and safety of others, your conscience, morals, ethics…They know what you want, what you feel, and use all of it to choose their prey.  The more sin they cause, the stronger they become.”  She paused.  “I think that’s how it works.  It’s been a while since I met them.”</p><p><br/> “What happens if we don’t get rid of them?  They take over the town?”</p><p><br/> “Well, they’d grow and spread out.  When they gain power, they’re able to duplicate themselves, so they can cause trouble all over the world.”</p><p><br/> Sam gave Dean a lost look.  </p><p><br/> “We should call Cas,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Ash tensed.  “As in ‘Castiel?’”  Crowley had grumbled about the angel to her, in detail, along with all they ways he’d like to kill him.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Wait, you know him?”</p><p><br/>“I know of him.”</p><p><br/>Dean chuckled.  “Yeah, I’m sure Crowley’s not a fan.”  He closed his eyes and bent his head.  “Hey Cas, we could really use your advice, buddy.  You there?”  </p><p><br/> Ash jumped at the flutter of wings behind her and stepped behind Sam. </p><p><br/> “Sam.  Dean.  It’s good to see you,” the angel said in a gravelly voice.  His eyes snapped to Ash, and his demeanor changed instantly.  He went from friendly and companionable to almost aggressive.  “That’s not a human!”</p><p><br/> “We know,” Sam said.  “Crowley sent her to help us take care of the leviathans.”</p><p><br/> “Crowley?  He…Sent you a monster.  To ‘help.’”</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “He helped us get rid of them last time.  So far, all she’s done is help.”</p><p><br/> Ash relaxed a little; the angel didn’t look like he was going to smite her immediately, at any rate.</p><p> <br/> Castiel looked confused and suspicious.  Addressing the girl, he said: “You made a deal with him?”</p><p><br/> She cocked her head to the side.  “I…No, not a deal.  I just do what he says.  I always have.”</p><p><br/> He moved to her side in the blink of an eye; before she could even think of running, he grabbed her chin in one hand, forcing her head up, and his grace bored into her mind.  Her own vision went black, her body went rigid, and hot ice ran down her spine.  Then he stepped back just as abruptly, and she returned to normal.  Castiel’s face twitched, like he’d forgotten how it worked.</p><p><br/> “Cass?” Dean prompted.</p><p><br/> Ash felt cold dread seep back into her.  This is why he told her to stay away from angels…</p><p><br/> “She’s harmless to you,” Castiel said after a long and unpleasant silence.</p><p><br/> “What?”</p><p><br/> “Her orders are to assist and protect you on your mission to destroy the leviathans.  She doesn’t want to kill you.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Good.  Fine.  You, uh…You see anything else you want to share with the class?”</p><p><br/> Castiel turned his steel gaze on Dean.  “No.  What did you want to see me about?”</p><p><br/> Dean went blank.</p><p><br/> “Sins,” Sam said, trying to focus on the task at hand.  “Seven of them.  They’re running around Salem.  We need to get rid of them.”</p><p><br/> “Ah.”  Castiel vanished, returning after a moment with a scroll.  “Instructions for banishing the seven deadly sins,” he said, handing it to Sam.  </p><p><br/> Sam started to unroll it on the table.  Dean looked over his shoulder; Ash sat down on a bed, thankful that she was being ignored.  Castiel had seen more inside her mind than he was letting on, but she had no idea how much he’d seen, and that worried her.</p><p><br/> “Okay, so each thing is basically a virtue to balance out the sin,” Sam said, reading through the list.  “We’ve got humility for pride, kindness for envy, patience for wrath, diligence for sloth, charity for greed, temperance for gluttony, and chastity for lust.”  He looked up.  “Do we have anything matching lust?”</p><p><br/> “What do you mean?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “Well, most of these cases are obvious,” he said, gesturing to the papers under the scroll.  “Gluttony, gluttony, wrath, sloth, wrath, greed…Ash listed off six, easy.  But none of them seem lusty.  Were there any…I don’t know…Sex crimes we missed?  Maybe one of the homicides?”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “No, it’d be mentioned in the reports.  That’s one of the first things they note.  Maybe someone jerked off too much and their dick fell off, or something?  Have there been any reports about something like that?”</p><p><br/> Sam checked the internet, but the only thing that came up was porn.  “Dean, really, use your own laptop.  You’re going to give mine a virus.”</p><p><br/> “Yours loads faster.”</p><p><br/> “Cause it’s not full of porn,” Sam snapped.  “Alright, well, we’ll come back to lust,” he said, closing the laptop.  “Maybe we can at least get rid of these other guys.  Thanks for your help, Cas.”</p><p><br/> The angel nodded his head.  “I really must be getting back to Heaven,” he said, and vanished with a flap of his invisible wings.  </p><p><br/> Ash perched on the edge of the bed, knees hugged to her chest, listening to Sam read through the list.  </p><p><br/> “It says we need the tooth of a dragon.  Ash?”</p><p><br/> “No problem.”  She started to undress, and the boys respectfully glued their eyes to the wall, keeping her in their peripheral vision just in case she suddenly decided to become a violent monster and rip their throats out.  Ash shifted into a black dragon about the size of a horse—it was the only breed small enough to fit inside the room safely. </p><p><br/> “Alright, easy with the tail, try not to break anything,” Dean grumbled.  Sam grabbed him a large pair of pliers from the car and a pair of gloves.  “I feel like that elf dentist from Rudolph.  Okay, Ash, this is gonna hurt.”</p><p><br/> Ash huffed, sending two little puffs of smoke out of her nostrils.  She hunkered down on the floor, resting her jaw on the linoleum, and opened her mouth.  Feeling ridiculous, Sam crouched to the side, helping to keep her upper jaw from shutting.  </p><p><br/> Dean latched onto a likely-looking specimen and pulled, but the tooth wasn’t going anywhere.  He tried again, bracing one foot against the side of her jaw, but his pliers were just not designed for dental extractions.  </p><p><br/> “What do we do now?” Sam sighed.</p><p><br/> “Punch her in the jaw?  Tie her tooth to a string and slam the door?”</p><p><br/> “I think you’d hurt your fist before she lost a tooth.”</p><p><br/> “Do we still have that sledgehammer in the trunk?”</p><p><br/> Sam looked at his brother.  “Don’t you think that’s a little cruel?”</p><p><br/> “We’re pulling a tooth out.  It’s gonna hurt.”  </p><p><br/> Sam continued to give him a Look.</p><p><br/> “You think I want to smash her upside the head because she’s a shifter?  I’m not cruel, Sammy.  We just…Need to get this done.  I’ll make it up to her later, okay?  I’ll try to be more…Friendly and open-minded.  Alright?”  He patted the dragon’s flank.  “Ash?  You good?”</p><p><br/> She looked like she really regretted ever helping Sam in the warehouse, but she nodded.  Who didn’t want to be smashed in the face with a sledgehammer?</p><p><br/> Sam retrieved the weapon.  “You think I should do this one?”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “I think you’ll be too worried about hurting her to actually knock a tooth out.  You hold her down.”  When he received another Look, he added, “She knows it’s coming, and she’s going to flinch.  Get her on her side—yeah, good—now get your weight on her neck—Ash, flick your tail if he’s choking you—and get a good grip on her head.”  He raised the hammer into the air.  “Just like that carnival game, right?  Close your eyes, there might be…Shrapnel.  Okay, ready?  On three.  One, two—”<br/> She felt the air move above her and heard the soft creak of joints in motion.  Ash dug her claws into the floor, tensing for the impact.  The hammer hit with a fleshy “thock!” and she felt her mouth fill with blood.  Sam released her and she opened her eyes, raising her head carefully.  </p><p><br/> “Please tell me that worked,” Dean said, setting the sledgehammer down.</p><p><br/> Ash opened her mouth, spitting out two fangs.  Dean picked them up in paper towels and set them on the counter.</p><p> <br/> “One for each of us.  Good job, kid.”</p><p><br/> She changed into a dog and sat at Sam’s feet while they went over the rest of the instructions.</p><p> <br/> “So, the ingredients are only half of it,” Sam said.  “The other half is…Well, demonstrating the virtue, I guess.”</p><p><br/> “What?”  Dean craned his neck to see.  “That’s ridiculous.  How are we supposed to show humility?  Talk about how not-great we are?  And look at this one—chastity.  Does not actively having sex count, or is it more specific than that?  Do we have to, like, look at a beautiful naked woman lying on a bed, and choose not to have sex with her?”<br/> “There’s…Oh god, it continues on the next page.  Ok, it’s an outline of the virtues.”  Sam yawned, and realized all the words were starting to blur together.  “Maybe…Maybe I could just lie down for a sec…”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, that’s not a bad idea.  Can’t be virtuous when you’re tired, right?”</p><p><br/> Sam nearly tripped over Ash as he stood up.  “Sorry.  Hey Dean, what do you want to do about her tonight?  We don’t have to put the silver cuffs on her again, do we?”</p><p> <br/> Ash whined.</p><p><br/> Dean sighed.  But Castiel had said she wasn’t a threat, and she had, supposedly, saved Sam from the leviathans in the warehouse.  “Yeah, I guess not.”  Bonus, that meant he didn’t have to share a bed with his moose of a brother again.  “But we should still keep an eye on her.  Have her sleep at the foot of your bed.”</p><p><br/> “Okay.  But you’re shorter—wouldn’t it make more sense for—”</p><p><br/> “You’re the dog person, you get the dog,” Dean grumbled, flopping onto his own bed.</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> In the morning, Ash turned human so they could all go out to breakfast, and Dean really did seem to be trying to be nicer, though she could see in his eyes he was still thinking shape-shifting monster.  They went to a touristy café named “Amy’s Wicked Good Eats,” and Dean had to explain to them that ‘wicked’ was New England slang for ‘very,’ making it a play on words as opposed to a store advertising how evil it was.  The place was packed.  </p><p><br/> Sam had bought a paper at a nearby gas station, and he did a quick check of the local headlines.  “Listen to this: Edward Lawton, 49, was found dead in his home…The neighbors hadn’t seen him in a few days and went to check up on him, they found him in the kitchen…Coroner’s calling it a heart attack.  But get this: They found a ton of cash in his basement, and traced it back to two of the recent robberies.”</p><p><br/> “Well, they are the seven deadly sins,” Ash said.</p><p><br/> “Yeah, but that’s not literal.  You’re not going to die from greed.”</p><p><br/> Sam cleared his throat.  “Five of the recent murder suspects also passed away yesterday.  The jail is looking into it, but so far no foul play is suspected.”<br/> “O—kay,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair.  “Maybe they are deadly.”</p><p><br/> A group sitting by a window drew Ash’s attention:  There were four people, two men and two women, more college students by the looks of them.  One set of them were clearly a couple, holding hands and flirting with each other across the table.  But the other two were acting odd.  The man kept trying to get the woman’s attention, but she was purposefully looking only at the other two.  She looked frazzled, maybe even scared, and though she would smile and laugh at the others her eyes never smiled, and it looked like she’d been crying.  Ash wasn’t sure why, but she felt like she needed to talk to her.  Thankfully, the woman got up from her seat and headed for the restroom.  <br/> “I’ll be right back,” Ash said, jumping up from her seat.  She didn’t wait for the boys to respond, but made a beeline for the ladies’ room, hoping she just looked like someone who really had to pee, as opposed to someone on a secret mission.  </p><p><br/> She pretended to fix her hair in the mirror while she waited for the other woman to emerge from a stall.  But soon she heard her sniffling, and realized she’d ran in there to cry.  Okay, it’s time to be human, she told herself.  You can do this.  She tapped on the stall door.  </p><p><br/> “Hey, you okay?”</p><p><br/> The woman gasped, then blew her nose.  “I’m fine.”</p><p><br/> “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”  She decided to aim straight for the point.  “Guys can be real dicks sometimes.”</p><p><br/> The crying woman laughed.  “You have no idea.”  The stall door opened, and she looked sheepishly at Ash, her face red and covered in snot and tears.</p><p> <br/> Ash motioned for her to sit on the counter next to her, between sinks.  That was when she saw the bruise on the woman’s chest.  “Your boyfriend’s a little handsy, isn’t he?”<br/> “He’s not my boyfriend.  We were friends, but now…”  She shrugged.  “Once we get home, I don’t ever want to see him again!”</p><p><br/> Ash cocked her head to the side.  “He attacked you.”</p><p><br/> The woman looked down at her feet, sniffling, and nodded.  “We’re staying at a B&amp;B I had my own room, and so did he.  I came back from my shower last night, and he was in my room…He said he needed to talk about something important, but when I sat down next to him…”  She shuddered.  “There was something in his eyes, something…Predatory, like an animal.”  She blew her nose again.  “He said he loved me, and he’d always lusted after me.  I tried to tell him I didn’t feel the same way, but he grabbed me by the throat and wouldn’t let me talk…He’s so much stronger than me.  I couldn’t…Couldn’t stop him…”  She broke down sobbing, unable to talk anymore.  <br/> Ash grabbed her more toilet paper to blow her nose; her hand brushed against the woman’s as she took the tissue from her.</p><p><br/> “I just, I feel so—”</p><p><br/> Ash’s mind exploded.  She could feel everything the other woman felt: Fear, shame, guilt, anger, sadness, an empty feeling of powerlessness.  She remembered the man’s hands on her: One pinning her hands above her head, the other tightened around her throat.  He easily pinned her down with his bodyweight, bringing his hand down from her throat to grope her.  </p><p><br/> She pulled her hand back like it was on fire.  Ash was sweating and panting like she’d just run five miles; she felt like she couldn’t breathe.  She got down from the counter and leaned against the sinks, the room spinning around her.  </p><p><br/> “Are you okay?” the other woman asked.  Her voice sounded far away.  </p><p><br/> “I’m fine,” she said, wondering why she was standing on the ceiling.  It must have been in her head, because the nice lady didn’t seem too shocked.<br/> Shouts and screaming erupted in the dining room, drawing the woman’s attention away from Ash.  “Something’s happening.  I’ll be right back.”  </p><p><br/> Ash sank to the floor, burning with the humiliation that she let her friend take advantage of her like that.  No, you’re Ash…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She woke up on the bathroom floor, her head still swimming.  All her memories and feelings seemed to be her own, at least.  Someone else’s hand was on her forehead, and she smelled sulfur.  </p><p><br/> “Crowley?” she groaned, opening her eyes.  If it wasn’t him, then she was in deep shit.  Granted, if it was him, she was likely in deep shit anyway, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to stop by.  </p><p><br/> The hand withdrew from her head, and she was able to focus on him crouched next to her.  “That’s a good sign.  You remember who you are?”</p><p><br/> “Ashes.”</p><p><br/> He patted her on her shoulder.  “Good girl.”  He hauled her into a seated position, leaning her against a wall.</p><p> <br/> Ash felt like she was missing something.  “Who…Did I think I was someone else?”</p><p><br/> “You were a little stuck on ‘Gwen’ for a minute there.”</p><p><br/> Gwen—the crying woman.  Something clicked in her head, and her eyes clouded over.  Do I tell my roommate?  Do I tell my mother?  Would anyone believe me?  I’m so ashamed…He said it was my fault, that I was leading him on…</p><p><br/> Crowley snapped his fingers in front of her face, and she blinked back into the present.  “Focus, kid.”  He felt into her mind, and flinched when he felt the angel’s lingering effects.  “You met Castiel.”</p><p><br/> She nodded.</p><p><br/> “Stupid overgrown righteous pigeon,” he grumbled.  Hellfire flashed in Crowley’s eyes.  All the lights in the building exploded, sending the already panicked restaurant into uncontrolled chaos.  Out in the street, a woman’s hair caught fire.</p><p><br/> Ash’s eyes adapted quickly, shifting to see in the dark like a cat.  She drew her legs into her chest, as if that would magically protect her from the demon’s anger.  <br/> Crowley seemed oblivious to the chaos outside the bathroom.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.  “You know those powers I warned you about?  The ones you were never to use without my supervision?”  She nodded.  “He seems to have…Activated them.  Wonderful.”</p><p><br/> She flinched as the floor erupted in flames.  She could feel the heat coming off of the fire, but it didn’t burn her.  He started cussing Castiel out in an ancient demonic language, causing a string of unpleasant phenomena across the city.  A gnome lawn ornament came to life and began attacking its neighbor’s statuary; a pregnant woman miscarried; fish jumped out of a stream to die on the bank; and an entire wax museum became possessed by the souls of those who’d died during the witch trials.  (The following day, the wax figures would scream as they melted into a puddle of nothing.)  </p><p><br/> He took a deep breath, and the floor returned to normal.  Someone tried to open the door, which he’d locked with his power.</p><p><br/> “Ash!  You in there?” Sam called.  “We have a bit of a situation!”</p><p><br/> No kidding, she thought.  </p><p><br/> “We’re a little busy right now, come back later,” Crowley snapped.  </p><p><br/> The other side of the door was quiet for a moment, then: “Crowley?”  </p><p>  <br/> “Christ, they’re thick, aren’t they?”  He waved his hand at the door, and Ash could hear Sam moving backward rapidly.  </p><p><br/> “Alright, we can handle this.  I’ll have a little chat with the angel; he might be a prick, but I’m used to dealing with him.  You need to be careful.  What happened today is going to start happening a lot more, and you need to learn to control it.  If anyone’s going to be able to help you, it’s Rocky and Bullwinkle out there.”  Crowley stood, helping her to her feet.  “Are the boys warming up to you yet?”</p><p><br/> “Sam is, a little.”</p><p><br/> “I think Dean will come around eventually.  You are female, after all.”  He winked at her, then vanished.</p><p><br/> The door burst open.  Sam and Dean ran inside, weapons drawn, then stopped and looked around, confused.  </p><p><br/> “Where is he?” Sam snapped.</p><p><br/> “Gone,” Ash said.  With the door open, she could hear more shouting outside.  “What happened?”</p><p><br/> “You know the girl you were talking to?  The guy she was with choked to death on a sausage.  They tried the Heimlich, but it didn’t work.  We had paramedics in here, trying to keep everyone else calm while they got him out, and then the lights went out and all hell broke loose.  We tried getting to you, but Crowley had the door blocked,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “What happened in here?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “I…It’s hard to explain.  The guy who choked to death—he’s the last sin.”</p><p><br/> “Lust?  How’d you find that out from the bathroom?”</p><p><br/> “His friend told me.”</p><p><br/> A waitress poked her head in the door and stared at them in surprise.</p><p><br/>“We should get going,” Dean said.  They headed out of the restaurant, where stunned servers were trying to clean up the mess.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> Back in the hotel, Ash sat down on Sam’s bed, already feeling beaten by the day.  </p><p><br/> Dean sat down across from her on his own bed, flopping onto his back.  “So, what’s the deal with sausage guy?  He bones his friend and gets the death penalty?  Seems a little unfair, considering what some of the other people did.”</p><p><br/> “Is it anyone who had unmarried sex?  Because the death toll is going to be through the roof with all these college kids in town,” Sam said, perching at the foot of his own bed.  </p><p><br/> Ash shook her head.  “No, I don’t think so.”  She hesitated, remembering all the shame, anger, and vulnerability that Gwen had felt, and tried to separate that in her mind from being alone in a hotel room with two very tough, heavily armed men.  I feel so powerless, Gwen thought.  No one will believe me.  No one will understand.  They’ll say I wanted it, that I encouraged it…They could never understand…</p><p><br/>“Gwen was attacked,” she said, trying to drown out the strange voice inside her head.  </p><p><br/> Dean sat up.  “What?  You mean she was raped?”</p><p><br/> Gwen had been trying to avoid thinking that word.  “Yes.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Shit.”</p><p><br/> “On the plus side, that means anything consensual should be fine.  We’re not about to have dozens of spoiled college brats dropping dead in the streets.”</p><p><br/> “Sam, can you grab the scroll?  We need to get rid of these guys.”</p><p><br/> Sam tossed the top of the scroll to Ash, then unrolled it down the length of the bed.  “Okay, we have a dragon’s tooth.  That’s the weapon to kill them with.  It says the Sins will congregate at temples of worship—no, temples of their worship.  I’m guessing that means you’d find Gluttony where there’s a lot of food, for example.  In order to kill the Sin, you must possess the virtue.  There’s a list of requirements: Gluttony, you can’t eat or consume any alcohol for a period of 24 hours—”</p><p><br/> Dean groaned.</p><p><br/> “—Wrath, you must show kindness to someone—that seems kind of vague, don’t you think?”  Sam read through the rest of them silently.  “Okay, these aren’t bad.”  He got to the end of the list, sighed, and looked up at Dean.  </p><p><br/> “What?  What is it?”</p><p><br/> “To kill Lust, you have to be a virgin.”</p><p><br/> Dean moved next to his brother to read over his shoulder.  “What?”  Sam showed him the text in question.  “Well that…That’s a stupid rule.  There’s no fine print saying ‘option B’, is there?”</p><p><br/> Sam looked over the entire thing again.  “No.  We’re covered on everything else, but…”</p><p><br/> Dean drummed his fingers on the parchment.  “Okay.  Right.  We can handle this.  Do we know any hunters who may be…Virginous?  Is that a word?”</p><p><br/> “I think you just made it up,” Sam said.  </p><p><br/> The brothers both went through a silent checklist of hunters they’d come across and tried to gauge their sexual history.  After several minutes of drawing a blank, Dean said: “What about Garth?  He’s a little…Socially awkward.  Do you think…?”</p><p><br/> “No, he has that girlfriend now, Bess,” Sam reminded him.  </p><p><br/> “Maybe they’re taking things really slow,” Dean said hopefully.</p><p><br/> Sam raised his eyebrows.  “You want to call him and ask?”</p><p><br/> Ash opened her mouth to interject, but Dean wasn’t paying attention.  He pulled out his phone.</p><p><br/> “Hey, Garth.  How’s it going, man?  Yeah, us too.  We’re up in Salem.  Yeah, no, it’s not witches.  Yes, I know.  Listen, uh, we need a very specific person to help us out here, and I thought maybe you would know someone, ‘cause we’re out of ideas.  We need a hunter who’s a virgin.  Uh-huh.  Yeah, no, I get that, good for you, man.  That’s…That’s kind of TMI, Garth.  Do you know anybody else who might be able to help us?  No, no—she’s definitely not.  No, not her either.  Nope.”  He was silent for a while as Garth started to ramble.  “Ok, thanks for your help, man.  Yeah, Sam’s right here, he says hi.  You too.  Bye.”  He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket.  “Nothing.”</p><p><br/>“Ahem.”  </p><p><br/> Sam and Dean turned to look at Ash.</p><p><br/> “I’m here to help, remember?  I can kill leviathans, I have a whole mouth full of dragon teeth, never slept with anything…I know it’s not much of a resume, but I think it qualifies.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean looked at each other, then back at her.  </p><p><br/> “It could work,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “She works for Hell!” Dean hissed at his brother. </p><p><br/> “And she said—”</p><p><br/> “And Ruby said she was on our side, too, remember that one?  That ended well.”</p><p><br/> Sam took a deep breath, his jaw clenching.  “What do you want to do, then?  Find some random off the street who’s willing to stab the guy with a dragon tooth?  Everyone’s going to think we’re nuts.”</p><p><br/> Dean ground his teeth together so hard that Sam could hear the enamel squeaking.  “Fine.  But only because we don’t have any other options.”  He turned to Ash.  “And you’re definitely a…A virgin?” he asked, his brain transitioning quickly from being pissed at Sam to trying to figure out how to handle the shifter.  She’d been classified firmly in his mind as ‘monster,’ a category for basically anything they’d ever had to kill.  Though many monsters shared human characteristics, he’d never seen one with any sort of moral or ethical code that might include the seven virtues.  They did what they wanted, when the wanted, and that was what got other people killed and, ultimately, why he and Sam had to kill them.  Even if they had a little voice in their head saying thou shalt not kill, they just ignored it and killed anyway.  So how could a shifter get to her age (around 25, by the look of her) without having fucked anyone (or anything, really—could be any species, after all)?  She either had to completely lack a sex drive, which seemed unlikely, or intentionally abstain from sex, which made absolutely no sense.  Unless…Maybe Crowley had kept her isolated somewhere, and she didn’t have a choice?  Christ, she wouldn’t have fucked Crowley, would she?  It made him nauseous just thinking about it.  </p><p><br/> Ash tilted her head to the side.  “Yes.  Are you alright?”</p><p><br/> Sam looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye.  “He’s fine, he just has this ‘thing’ about virgins,” he joked.  “Makes him socially awkward.”</p><p><br/> Dean glared at him.  “Shut up.”</p><p><br/> “So where should we start?” Sam asked, trying to steer Dean back to the job.  </p><p><br/> Dean sat down and started talking, but he was still hung up on the whole Crowley aspect.  Was that why she was so loyal to him?  Were they, like, a thing?  He’d watched way too much porn to not be able to picture all the fucked up ways that could go…</p><p><br/> Ash felt a sudden wave of nausea crash over her.  She leaned her head back, feeling the blood drain from her face.  She felt angry and disgusted.  And then she saw exactly what Dean was thinking.</p><p><br/> “Seriously?!” she shouted, jumping to her feet.  She shook her head vigorously, then pressed both hands to her temples.  </p><p><br/> Her outburst threw off Dean, who immediately stopped thinking about the most disturbing hookup since Sam and Ruby, and felt for the hilt of his silver knife.  Sam, equally confused but not nearly as disturbed as either of them, took a step toward Dean in case he needed to prevent a needless stabbing.  </p><p><br/> Ash straightened, panting, and looked from Sam to Dean.  The visions faded, but she was still disgusted, and now she knew why.  Her brows knit together as she eyed Dean.  “You?  You really think—” and she blacked out.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She woke up flat on her back on the floor with Sam on one side of her and Dean on the other.  She pushed herself up onto her elbows, letting her spinning head settle a little.</p><p><br/> “What happened?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “I don’t know.  It’s like when I met that woman, Gwen—I…I saw in her head, saw what she was feeling, and then I blacked out.”</p><p><br/> “Hold up,” Dean said, “You can read people’s minds, and you never told us?”  He turned to Sam.  “Yeah, she’s real trustworthy.”</p><p><br/>Ash shook her head.  “No, I can’t.  Couldn’t.  I think when Castiel went in my head, he…Did something.  Back at the restaurant, that’s the first time it’s ever happened.  I didn’t mean to do it.”</p><p><br/>“So whose head were you in just now?” Dean snapped.</p><p><br/>“Yours,” she snapped back.  “And no, I never did any of that with him.  I’m like his freaking pet; you don’t fuck your dog.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes widened as he stared at Dean.  “Who—Crowley?  You were picturing her with Crowley?”</p><p><br/> “Dude, I don’t control what goes on in my head, okay?”  He helped Ash to her feet.  “I just have a hard time believing a shifter hasn’t hooked up at least once in their life.  I mean, you guys are practically the definition of the Seven Deadly Sins.”</p><p><br/> Ash took a step back from him.  “Really.  It’s funny how much they like humans, then, isn’t it?”</p><p><br/> She felt his anger surge.  He hated everything that wasn’t human: Demon, vampire, werewolf, shifter, ghost, and all the other monsters that they hunted.  He hated that they’d taken away his parents, that they’d prevented Sam from the normal, happy life he’d tried to have; the supernatural had cost him forty years in Hell, lost him the one woman he’d actually managed to have a normal, long-term relationship with, and killed Bobby, along with everyone else he’d ever gotten to know.  Every time he’d started to feel happy or content, there was always a monster on the other side of the door, waiting.  And now there was one in front of him, one he had to work with—which he swore he’d never do, after the demon fiasco—and she thought she had virtue.  Crowley, the nastiest demon in Hell, commanded her, but don’t worry—at least she’s not promiscuous.  She probably goes to church on Sundays, too!</p><p><br/> Ash sighed.  “Look, if you don’t want me to work with you, that’s fine.  I get it; I’m the bad guy.”  She backed around the boys and grabbed her bag.  “I’ll kill him on my own.  You get the other six.”</p><p><br/> Sam nudged his brother, who glared back at him.    </p><p><br/> “Stop,” Dean called.  Ash paused in front of the door and swiveled to face him.  He exhaled heavily.  “Look, I’ve been doing this my whole life.  And there have been, on occasion, one or two…Things…That weren’t complete pieces of shit, and that helped us out.  A werewolf that learned to eat animal hearts instead of human hearts.  Ghosts who weren’t all evil vengeance.  But I’ve killed a hell of a lot more that didn’t give a shit about humanity—shifters who killed because they could, not because they had to.  Sammy and I, we’ve both put our trust in shit that shouldn’t be trusted, and it’s gotten people killed, including us.  So excuse me for being wary of a shape-shifter sent here by the king of Hell.”  He took a deep breath.  “But we could use your help.  With this, and with the leviathans.  I don’t trust Crowley as far as I can throw him, but I think he really does need us to stop them, and he’s not going to put a hit out on us until Dick Roman is dead.”</p><p><br/> Sam clapped his hands together.  “Great.  So we’re all on the same side?  Can we please start killing sins, while they’re still here to kill?”</p><p><br/> Ash set down her bag.  She nodded.  </p><p><br/> “Okay, let’s go be virtuous and shit.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Sam and Dean both completed the tasks as outlined on the scroll, in case one of them became incapacitated.  Ash was exempted, as they were just going to use her to help find the Sins and kill Lust, who didn’t have a specific task associated with him other than never having had sex.  The first Sin they decided to go after was Greed, as Dean was sure he’d be easy to find at a bank.</p><p><br/> None of the local banks yielded anything suspicious.  They walked the downtown streets with increasing frustration: Where else would Greed hang out?  The banks were the first to be hit, so they seemed like the obvious choice.  What could people be greedier about than money?</p><p><br/> Ash paused outside a shop window.  Inside the glass, under light that highlighted their sparkle, was a display of diamond jewelry.  There was something almost magical about the way they sparkled, something that drew her in like a magpie.  Rings spun on a mirrored turntable, making the light dance and shimmer, reflecting colors off the glass of the window.  </p><p><br/> It took Sam and Dean a moment to realize she wasn’t keeping up with them.  Sam turned around.  “Ash?”</p><p><br/> She turned away from the display.  “Sorry, got distracted.”  She started jogging along the street to catch up.</p><p><br/> Dean rolled his eyes.  “This is why you don’t take women shopping,” he instructed Sam.  </p><p><br/> Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  Something is here, he thought.  “Dean—you feel that?”</p><p><br/> Dean stopped walking.  “I feel…Hungry.  Maybe Gluttony’s nearby?”</p><p><br/> They looked around, but the shops in their immediate vicinity were all retailers.  </p><p><br/> Sam shook his head.  “You’re always hungry.  You don’t feel, like, a pull?”</p><p><br/> “Coming from where?”</p><p><br/> “Ash, what were you looking at?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged, trying to hide her embarrassment.  Could she have gotten any more stereotypical than a chick staring at diamonds?  A dragon, staring at diamonds?  “Uh…Just…Diamonds.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean shared a look.  “Better than money, to a lot of people,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> The three of them ventured into the little jeweler’s shop, a bell ringing over the door as they entered.  A young woman, dressed all in black, looked up from behind the counter.  </p><p><br/> “Hi there!  What can I help you with today?”</p><p><br/> “Uh,” Sam said, “This may sound odd, but has anyone tried to rob you lately?”</p><p><br/> “Or buy an unusually large amount of stuff?” Dean added.</p><p><br/> The woman’s expression flipped from ‘helpful salesperson’ to ‘I need to hit the panic button while still pretending everything is okay.’  “No, I can’t say they have,” she said with forced cheerfulness. </p><p><br/> A middle-aged man in a suit stepped out from the back room.  He glanced at the saleswoman, then at Sam and Dean, and his face broke into a broad grin.  His eyes traveled over to Ash, and the smile faltered, then broadened further.  “Welcome,” he purred.  “Please, make yourselves at home.  There’s a pot of coffee on, if anyone’s interested?”  He crossed in front of the counter, slowly getting closer to the group.  Ash sniffed, inhaling the sharp scent of sulfur and brimstone.  </p><p><br/> “It’s him,” she hissed to the boys.  </p><p><br/> Greed paused in his steps, the smile never leaving his face.  “You’re not big on material wealth, are you?”  He shrugged.  “That’s a shame.”  He drew a thin dagger from his suitcoat.  “Still, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, as they say…”</p><p><br/> Sam darted toward him, brandishing the dragon tooth.  Greed hopped out of reach, slicing Sam’s arm with his own weapon as he moved.  Sam hissed in pain, spinning back just as Dean darted to the Sin’s other side.  The saleswoman screamed; Ash rolled her eyes and ran around the fight, ushering her out the employee-only back entrance.  “Come back in ten minutes, you’ll be fine,” she advised.</p><p><br/> “I don’t understand,” the woman cried, shaking.  “Are…Are you robbing us?”</p><p><br/> “No.  Your boss…He’s killed people.  Those young guys?  They’re undercover FBI agents.  They’re going to stop him.”</p><p><br/> She looked skeptical, but was too frightened to bring up all the plot holes in Ash’s story.  “Okay.  So if I go sit in my car for ten minutes, I can go back in the store?”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  “Where’s your phone?”</p><p><br/> “What?  Why?”</p><p><br/> “Because you’re going to call the cops, and that’s going to complicate things.”</p><p>Her hand shaking, the woman handed her phone over.  </p><p><br/> “I’m going to put this by the cash register inside.”  She turned to head back inside.  “Ten minutes.”</p><p><br/> Ash scurried back inside just in time to see Dean impale Greed.  The Sin screamed, his body crackling with red light; then he seemed to implode and explode at the same time.  There was a sound like the crack of lighting, and he was gone.  </p><p><br/> Dean panted, pocketing the dragon tooth.  “Well that wasn’t so bad.”  He seemed to have avoided taking any damage.</p><p>Sam, on the other hand, had angry red knife wounds on his arms and one slash mark just above his right eye.  “Great.  Can’t wait to do six more,” he said sarcastically, mopping his face with a bandana to keep blood out of his eye.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They found Gluttony at an all-you-can-eat buffet, which was laughably obvious.  He was pale, bald, and fat, but deceptively agile for his size.  Once more, Ash took on the role of crowd control, evacuating the restaurant while Sam and Dean fought him.  Gluttony gave them the added challenge of being insatiably hungry to a point that was difficult to ignore.  Dean’s mind was set on a bacon cheeseburger, and the distraction nearly cost him his neck.  Still, their two against one advantage beat the Sin in the end, and he imploded/exploded just as Greed had. </p><p><br/> Envy took some creative thinking to find, but they eventually hunted him down at a Ferrari dealership just out of town.  Apparently, everyone covets their neighbor’s car as well as their wife.  </p><p><br/> Pride was settling in happily at an athletic center, where folks all wanted to be the best at tennis, basketball, track and field, gymnastics, soccer, and swimming.  He had a few additional weapons at his disposal thanks to the track and field program: Luckily he missed Dean with the javelin, but he clocked Sam on the head with a shotput and Dean had to finish him off on his own.  </p><p><br/> Sloth was a real challenge to locate.  No one could think of a specific place that people would go to do nothing, apart from their own couches; running out of other options, they were starting to seriously consider going door to door across all of Salem.  </p><p><br/> “What if it’s more simple than that?” Sam thought aloud.  “We’ve been trying to think of a place where a bunch of lazy people would be, but maybe it’s not that literal.  What if it’s just people doing nothing?”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed.  “Yeah, that’s kind of the same thing, Sammy.”</p><p><br/> “No, wait—I can figure this out.  Picture…Picture a bunch of people just sitting down somewhere.”</p><p><br/> “Church?”</p><p><br/> “No, that wouldn’t be a sin.”</p><p><br/> “Uh…College lecture hall.  Everyone just sleeps through those.”</p><p><br/> “Okay.  Let’s go to the local community college and check out—”</p><p><br/> “It’s Saturday,” Ash said.  “Aren’t schools closed?”</p><p><br/> Sam thought some more.  “What about a movie theater?  People are literally just staring at the screen.”</p><p><br/> “Google—”</p><p><br/> “I’m on it,” he said, whipping out his phone.</p><p><br/> They snuck in an employee entrance to the local theater and began to search.  There were only five screens, so it wouldn’t take long to inspect the entire building.<br/> Dean stifled a yawn, dragging his feet as Sam picked a lock to one of the projection rooms.  “Is anybody else feeling…Tired?”</p><p><br/> Sam accidentally dropped the lock-pick for the third time.  “Oh good, I thought it was just me.”</p><p><br/> “It’s Sloth,” Ash said, leaning against a wall.  She slid down until she was seated on the floor.  “The closer you get, the worse it’s going to be.  With the others gone, I guarantee he knows we’re here.  They communicate with each other.”</p><p><br/> Sam sat down in front of the door, staring up at the lock with glazed eyes.  “That’s a bummer.”</p><p><br/> Dean tapped his shoulder with the back of his hand.  “Scoot.  Let me.”</p><p><br/> Sam made a half-hearted attempt to move, and failed.  Dean managed to work around him, finally picking the lock, then laid down face first on the floor as the door swung open.   </p><p><br/> “H’llo?” Dean called.</p><p><br/> A high-schooler was manning the station, and he looked stoned out of his mind.</p><p><br/> “Not this one,” Sam said, trying to stand up.  His arms jerked around like a ragdoll, and he leaned his head against the wall.  “This is going well.”</p><p><br/> “It’s s’posed to be hard,” Dean slurred.  “’S a test of…Of virtue.”  His brain seemed to be two steps behind where it normally was.  “Or something.”  He rolled onto his back.  “Sammy, can you drag me to the next door?”</p><p><br/> Sam chuckled.  “Yeah, if I could stand up.  Hold on.”  He thought very hard about standing up, but the rest of his body didn’t seem on board with the idea.  It was too much effort.</p><p><br/> Ash took a deep breath and tried to focus.  It’s just the human bit that’s having trouble, she told herself.  The other bits don’t care about Sloth; sloth isn’t a sin to them, it’s a death sentence.  And you don’t want to die, so it’s time to be less human.  She tried to let go of all thought, but five more random ones popped into her head.  They were stupid, human thoughts, like: I should brush my teeth, they feel grainy; and I wonder who invented locks for doors?  </p><p><br/> Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and hauled him upright, so they were both sitting on the floor.  “Right.  Let’s do this,” Dean said with renewed vigor.  He remained absolutely still.  “Hmm.  I thought that would work.”</p><p><br/> “You need instinct,” Ash said, struggling to kick her shoe off.  Since it was a ballet flat, it should have been much easier than it felt.  “Like…Like fear.  Everything is prey to something else.  Even humans.”  She yawned.  “Even me.”  She freed her left foot, then dug her heel into the carpet to slip out of the right shoe.  She tried to remember what fear felt like, but it was hard when everything right now was so chill.  She’d never felt this relaxed in her life—it was kind of nice.  But it was also new, and uncomfortable, and—dare she think it—a little scary.  </p><p><br/> She grabbed the feeling and ran with it, at least figuratively speaking.  She thought about how afraid she was of failing Crowley; afraid that Dean would snap and try to kill her, and she would have to fight him without accidentally killing him, because if she broke the Rules…Well, that was scary.  You will fail, she thought.  You will fail in this, and fail in your mission, and Crowley will be Disappointed with a capital “D.”</p><p><br/> Ash shot to her feet, surprising Sam and Dean.  </p><p><br/> Dean furrowed his brow.  “How’d you do that?”</p><p><br/> “Fear.  Survival instinct,” she mumbled, swaying a little.  It was taking every ounce of willpower not to sit back down.  Thinking about disappointing Crowley was terrifying, and extremely motivating.  She walked with short, shuffling steps around the corner, feeling like the walking dead.  </p><p><br/> “Wait!  Where you going?” Sam called.</p><p><br/> She was too tired to answer.  As soon as she was out of the Winchesters’ sight line, she pulled her shirt off.  It felt like it weighed twenty pounds.  Then, like the slowest, most boring strip tease, she inched her pants off, leaving them in a heap on the floor—picking them up would be way too much effort—and shivered as the cold movie theater air hit her bare skin.  </p><p><br/> You are going to do this because if you don’t, Crowley will be Disappointed, she thought again.  She wanted to just fall face-first onto the floor and go to sleep.  Instead, she focused on her anxiety, and changed.</p><p><br/> Ash felt better almost immediately.  Instead of a human who couldn’t be bothered to move, she was now a wolf on tranquilizers.  She popped back around the corner to grab the boys; they both startled at the sight of her and staggered to their feet by holding on to each other, like very drunk people might do.  </p><p><br/> “Jesus!  Don’t scare me like that,” Dean scolded.  </p><p><br/> The wolf padded over to them and very gently took Sam’s sleeve in her mouth.  She towed him away from the projection booth: He pitched forward, his feet not on board with the upper half of his body.  Dean righted him, and together the three of them zombie-lurched to the next room.  They went door to door in this fashion, checking every projector and screening room.  When one of the boys lagged or looked on the verge of sitting down, Ash would growl and nip at them.  It didn’t make them afraid, but it pissed them off, and that was enough to overcome the extreme sloth.  </p><p><br/> He was in the last projection room.  It was little more than a closet, really.  With Sloth and the three of them, there was hardly enough room for a good fight, but at the moment there didn’t appear to be one, anyway.  This close to him, all three of them folded right onto the floor like discarded marionettes.  </p><p><br/> “Took you long enough,” said Sloth.  He looked like an older man, very non-threatening in his Salem Cineplex uniform.  “I’d get up to shake your hands, but why bother?”  He spun his chair around slowly, and Ash could see a dagger in his hand, identical to the other Sins’.  “Why even bother with killing you?  You’re just going to lie there.  I, on the other hand, really must be going soon.  It’s so tedious doing things this way, you realize.  Hunting down each individual sinner—really, there’s no efficiency at all.  Still, we do get to kill them, which makes it…More interesting.  You know, in Hell, we can reach millions of souls at once, but they hardly ever die from their sins.”  He shrugged.  “Well, mine die eventually.  Starvation, usually.  And you know the worst part?  They don’t even care that they’re dying.  Sometimes, I really envy—” he stopped himself and chuckled.  “Listen to me, will you?  Envy!  Eh, he’s got a sweet gig, though.  I’d ask to take his job but…Well, it would just be so much effort.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, shut up,” Dean groaned, his voice muffled by the floor.  </p><p><br/> Sloth stood up.  “I’ll just let myself out then, shall I?”  He moseyed over to the immobilized group, fiddling with his dagger.  “I suppose I could kill you.  It wouldn’t really be that much effort, given your current state…”  He tapped the wolf with his foot.  “This is different, I’ll admit.  Never pictured you boys running around with a shifter.  Does it do any tricks?”</p><p><br/> Ash saw the glint of the knife above her head, and the wolf instinct kicked into gear.  She whipped her head around and sank her jaws into Sloth’s calf, feeling her teeth connect with bone.  The Sin bellowed in pain and anger and brought the knife down into her shoulder.  She yelped, releasing her jaws.  The blade wasn’t silver, but it still hurt.  Sloth pulled the dagger back and she rolled as he brought it back down; unfortunately, her roll was stopped short by Dean, who had managed to roll onto his back.  Sloth stabbed Ash in the chest, the dagger slipping between two ribs to puncture a lung.  As the Sin went for a third stab, Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing the knife by the blade.  </p><p><br/> The wolf scrambled out from underneath the Sin and spun, biting the arm that held the dagger.  He cursed and let go of it, swinging his arm out with Ash still attached.  She lost her grip at the arc of his swing, crashing into a tower of expensive-looking equipment.  Dean staggered to his feet, holding the dragon tooth in front of him; he stepped forward, but he was still moving in slow-motion.  Sloth plucked the tooth from his grip and lazily shoved him to the side, where he fell against the actual projector.  <br/> Now Sam got to his feet, moving all wobbly like a baby giraffe.  </p><p><br/> Sloth sighed, tossing aside Dean’s dragon tooth.  “Really?  Alright, let’s get this over with.”  He beckoned him forward.  </p><p><br/> Sam took two steps, swayed, and dropped to the floor.  As Sloth started to laugh, Sam swept his ankles out from under him, sending the old man crashing to the floor beside him.  Sam darted up and brought his dragon tooth down into his chest.  Sloth screamed and imploded with a resounding crack.</p><p><br/> The shift in energy was immediate.  Sam and Dean stood up, pocketing their dragon teeth.  Ash healed herself and headed for the door, keen on hunting down her clothes before someone else disposed of them.  </p><p><br/> “What the hell was that?” Dean grumbled.  “The others were so simple.”</p><p><br/> “Maybe gravity is harder to ignore?” Sam guessed.  </p><p><br/> “Right.  That’s probably it.”</p><p><br/> Ash changed and met the boys back at the car.  </p><p><br/> “Alright, five down and two to go.  Any ideas?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “Wrath’s going to be hard to pin down.  People get angry pretty much everywhere,” Sam said.  “We should focus on lust.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, because that’s so simple,” Dean snarked back.  “People hook up in their beds, in their homes.  The door-to-door plan is still a horrible idea.”</p><p><br/> “Okay…what about hotels?”  He snapped his fingers.  “Cheap motels.  Maybe one with an hourly rate.”</p><p><br/> Dean gave him a long look.  “…You mean like our motel.”</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head.  “But we’d know if he was there, wouldn’t we?”</p><p><br/> “You mean we’d be really horny?”</p><p><br/> Sam hesitated.  “I guess so…”</p><p><br/> “They move, though,” Ash piped up from the back seat.  “The other Sins, they’d been plenty of other places before we found them.  So he could be at our place now.  Unless Salem has a brothel.”</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head.  “No, it’s not legal here.”</p><p><br/> “But there’s always an underground sex trade.  You can find hookers in just about any town in any state.”  Dean saw the sideways look his brother was giving him, and added: “No, I have never had to pay for sex.”</p><p><br/> “I wasn’t insinuating—”</p><p><br/> “Uh huh.  Anyway, they just bring their hookups to the same place everyone else goes—”</p><p><br/> “Our hotel,” Sam finished.  “So that’s our only lead?  We go back home?”</p><p><br/> “Sounds like a plan.”  He glanced in the rearview mirror.  “You ready for this one, kid?”</p><p><br/> She thought about the way Gwen felt after she was raped by her friend.  “Ready.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They pulled into the parking lot around 11 pm.  Ash’s anxiety had returned to its naturally high state, having fully recovered from Sloth’s influence.  She was itching to change again, to stalk, to bite, to kill.  The first four Sins had been relatively ineffective against them, so it had come as a huge surprise when Sloth nearly took them out of commission.  She knew Wrath would be bad: Dean was a walking ball of anger to begin with, she didn’t want to see what happened when the Sin cranked him up a thousand percent.  But she didn’t know what to think about Lust.  Would he really make them all horny?  She had suppressed her own sex drive long enough that she didn’t see that being a real distraction, but what about the boys?  </p><p><br/> “Dean, a word?” Sam said.  </p><p><br/> He and Dean stepped out of the car, telling Ash to stay put.  They put several cars’ distance between themselves and the Impala before Sam started to talk in a hushed voice.  </p><p><br/> “Maybe we should let her do this one alone,” he said.</p><p><br/> “Are you kidding?  Sam, we couldn’t do the others alone, and she doesn’t have the experience we do.”</p><p><br/> “She’s killed leviathans.  She can handle one guy.”</p><p><br/> Dean leaned against an old Honda, his arms folded across his chest.  “Why are you so worried about this all of a sudden?  I thought we had a plan.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, we did.  And then we met Sloth, and he affected us way worse than we ever thought he would.  So I just think, maybe, we should let Ash take this one without us.”</p><p><br/> Dean frowned.  “What do you think’s gonna happen, Sammy?  You don’t want her to see you with a raging boner?”  He snickered.  “She’s going to hang with us for a while, I’m sure it won’t be the only awkward thing you have to deal with.”</p><p><br/> Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot.  That particular scenario hadn’t occurred to him.  “Think about it, Dean.  This…Deadly Sin version of Lust, it’s not making people horny.  They’re raping people.  What do you think is going to happen if we all face him together?”</p><p><br/> Dean scoffed.  “That’s not gonna happen, Sammy.  The other Sins barely affected us, and this one won’t either.  Everyone wishes they could do nothing; that’s why Sloth was so powerful.”  A tiny voice in his head wondered if he really knew what he was talking about.  What if, it whispered.  What if Lust turns you into a rapist?  Even acting against your will, could you forgive yourself for that?  “Come on, let’s get this over with.”</p><p><br/> Ash wasn’t in the car, but her clothes were.  Sam called her name as Dean began checking the rest of the parking lot, but he needn’t have bothered.  A squirrel shot out from underneath the passenger seat, weaved through the open door, and landed on top of a rusty Hyundai.  </p><p><br/> “What the crap?!” Sam yelled in surprise.  “Dean, she’s right here!”  </p><p><br/> As Dean rushed back to the car, Ash shifted into a wolf.  She hopped from the roof of the car to the hood, then to the pavement, and shook herself off.  Even in the dim light of the parking lot, the Winchesters could see that her fur was standing on end, and her eyes were glowing and dilated.  She made a sad sort of whining noise in the back of her throat every time she exhaled.</p><p><br/> Dean’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his silver knife.  “Kid, you’re freaking me out.”</p><p><br/> Sam stepped toward her slowly, turning slightly to the side and crouching down, as if he was approaching a strange dog.  He made a point of keeping his hands visible.  Ash’s tail twitched and her eyes focused on him for a moment; but then they flashed a brighter blue and her whine turned into a snarl.  Sam froze.  </p><p><br/> “Are you the dog whisperer now?” Dean joked.</p><p><br/> “She’s doing that thing again,” Sam said, as if that explained everything.  </p><p><br/> “Right.  That thing.  Glad we cleared that up.”</p><p><br/> “No, the…The psychic thing.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Yeah, she’s doing the glowy thing again with her eyes.  It’s almost demonic, isn’t it?”</p><p><br/> “Ash?  Hello?”  Sam waved his hand in front of her face, but not close enough that she could bite it.  She growled, but her eyes weren’t focused on him.  He snapped his fingers.</p><p><br/> Ash blinked, and her eyes focused on Sam, still glowing.  The fur began to settle on her back.  Sam and Dean stayed still, waiting; after a moment, the wolf shook herself off and loped off behind a car, hidden from their view.  </p><p><br/> “Sorry, that was weird,” she said, crouched down behind the bumper of a truck.  “I…Left my clothes in the car, so I’m just gonna talk to you from over here.”</p><p><br/> “What the hell happened?”</p><p><br/> She was silent for a moment, thinking what she was willing to tell them.  “Nothing.  I just freaked out.  But I’m fine now.”</p><p><br/> “Agree to disagree on that one,” Dean replied.  Sam jabbed him with his elbow.  “What?  She’s got issues.”  He turned back to the general direction of Ash’s voice.  “So d’you feel Lust yet?”</p><p><br/> Sam snorted.  “Might have been a better way to phrase that.”</p><p><br/> “I…Think so,” Ash said, sounding pained.  Her head was full of other people’s thoughts and feelings that she couldn’t get her own thoughts put together.  There was so much anger!  But there was also fear, and pain; guilt and shame; depression and powerlessness.  She was being bombarded by the minds of women and men who’d been beaten, stabbed, and sexually violated.  Their pain was overwhelming.  She wished she could just knock herself out with the sledgehammer.  She’d rather be stabbed with silver than try to deal with all the shit in her head.  “There’s too many people in my head,” she groaned.  </p><p><br/> “Can you see anything specific that might help us out?” Sam prompted.  “I mean, is it just emotions, or can you actually see what they see?”</p><p><br/> Ash closed her eyes, shivering against the cold and the overwhelming sensations of shame and powerlessness.  She focused on one particular person’s thought, bringing it to the forefront of her mind.  </p><p><br/> Stacy choked as blood filled the back of her throat.  The man had broken her nose, and she was struggling to breathe out of her mouth.  She was just supposed to bring more towels to room 22—her shift was over in thirty minutes.  But the tenant had grabbed her and stopped her from leaving.  She fought back, earning herself the broken nose and lots of bruises; but the worst injury was to her soul, as he fucked her mercilessly again and again.</p><p><br/> Ash shot to her feet, banging her head on a bumper.  “Ow!”</p><p><br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> “Room 22, but I didn’t actually see the Sin—"</p><p><br/> “Gotta start somewhere,” Dean shrugged.  </p><p><br/> Ash turned back into a wolf and rejoined the boys.  They made their way down the line of rooms to number 22, and Sam knocked on the door.  </p><p><br/> “You should be a dog,” Dean said quietly as they waited.  “If he’s not in here, you’re going to scare the shit out of someone.”</p><p><br/> Ash shrunk into a German Shepard.  </p><p><br/> Sam knocked again, harder.  Sudden inspiration struck him: “FBI, open up!”  He pulled out his badge and held it up to the peep hole.  Ash backed away from the door.<br/> Suddenly, her brain exploded with pain.  She yelped like someone had slit her throat—which it felt like someone had.  </p><p><br/> Dean spun to see what had attacked her; she growled and changed shape, turning into a mouse and scurrying under the door.  Sam and Dean listened intently: There was no screaming or sounds of fighting inside.  After a tense moment, Ash opened the door.</p><p><br/> “They’re dead,” she said.  “Sin didn’t stick around.”</p><p><br/> Sam handed her his jacket as they walked inside, since she’d left her clothes in the car.  There was a man and a woman on one of the beds.  The man was on top of her, like he’d still been fucking her when they died.  The woman’s face was bloody, her nose broken; but most of the blood came from the fact that both of their throats were slit open.  <br/> Dean opened his mouth to say something like, ‘at least he died happy,’ but it didn’t seem like the time or place for it.  This wasn’t some couple hooking up; it was a crime scene.  He held his tongue.  </p><p><br/> Ash sniffed the air: Along with blood, there was a hint of sulfur and brimstone.  “He was here.”</p><p><br/> They stepped back outside and Ash shifted back into a wolf.  Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw another door slam farther down.  Silently, he motioned for them to follow him.  </p><p><br/> It was their room.</p><p><br/> Dean and Sam both drew their guns, despite the fact that they wouldn’t be fatal, and Dean tried the doorknob.  It was unlocked.  </p><p><br/> Dean motioned for Ash to go through first.  He turned the knob as quietly as possible, then threw the door back as hard as he could.  Nothing happened, so Ash crept inside, trying to focus on both the kitchenette and the bedroom area at the same time.  There were two men, one perched on the end of each bed.  They appeared to be perfectly happy and relaxed, watching TV.  They turned to look at her as she approached, but neither was the least bit afraid.  </p><p><br/> They were almost identical: About Sam’s height, in their early 20’s, with light brown hair, blue eyes, and chiseled muscles.  They looked like they should be in an Abercrombie and Fitch ad—that was probably where they would have shopped for their clothes, at any rate, given the artificially “distressed” tees and ripped jeans.  The only difference Ash could see was that one’s shirt was red and one was white.  </p><p><br/> Both men smiled at her.  “We got tired of waiting,” the red-shirted one said, standing up.  “I’d heard the Winchesters were in town, of course.  It was just killing me, waiting to see how they planned to kill me.”  He shook his head, still smiling.  “Ah, it’s a tale as old as time.  Men will never tire of sacrificing virgins.”</p><p><br/> Ash started to change into a dragon; but the second her cells began to rewrite themselves, she yelped in alarm.  Reality dimmed around her as her mind was invaded with the emotions of millions of souls.  Every one of them carried different levels of the debilitating shame, guilt, and fear that followed sexual assault.  She tried to move, but her legs were locked.  Her vision was blurred, able only to focus on the images inside her head.  As the victims replayed the attacks for her, her brain tried to convince her that everything they felt and saw was actually happening to her in real time.  </p><p><br/> Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she felt someone grab the scruff of her neck and pick her up off the ground.  </p><p><br/> “That’s the trouble with women,” Lust said.  “Always so emotional.”</p><p><br/> She felt the hand release, and she fell against something solid—a wall?—and collapsed on the floor.  She knew there was a wall and she knew there was a floor, but currently she was also ten different men who’d been assaulted by other men for being gay.  Seven of them wanted to kill themselves.</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean heard Ash yelp and ran inside.  There was the momentary surprise of finding two Sins in the room with them, but that was quickly overcome.  Both Winchesters opened fire.</p><p><br/> Wrath and Lust laughed mockingly as the bullets passed harmlessly through them, not even leaving a mark.  </p><p><br/> “Come on now, boys.  Here I was hoping for a real fight.  And you bring guns?  You know better than that,” the man in the white shirt said.</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both freed their dragon teeth.  </p><p><br/> The Sin grinned.  “That’s more like it.  But two against two isn’t really fair, is it?” he said, looking to his twin.  “We should really wake up the girl.”</p><p><br/> “But I’m having so much fun with her,” the red shirt smiled back as the Winchesters inched closer to them.  “You know, I’ve never met anyone quite so…Open-minded.”  He pulled his own dagger out and walked toward the fallen wolf.  “I can fit the emotional backlash of everyone who’s ever been sexually assaulted into her brain.  Never tried that before.”  He prodded her with his foot; she made no response.  He looked up at Sam and Dean with mock horror.  “Oh no, boys.  Looks like your virgin’s broke.  Guess you better find another one, fast.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean attacked.  Sam went after the white shirt and Dean went after the red: It was difficult to fight in such a confined space, but they’d fought ghosts and demons in worse places.  Sam’s sin dodged him easily, looking almost bored.  Dean had more luck, or so he thought, stabbing his Sin in the chest with the dragon tooth when he tripped over the edge of a bed.  The man feigned injury, then laughed in his face and pulled the tooth out without even wincing, chucking it into the corner farthest from Dean.  </p><p><br/> “I don’t think so, boy.  You’re two sluts away from being a man-whore.”  He slashed at him with his dagger and Dean leapt back.</p><p><br/> Sam saw Dean move out of the corner of his eye, but he was having problems of his own.  Wrath’s dagger had grown into a full-length sword, and he was brandishing it recklessly like a drunk madman, the whole time with a manic grin plastered to his face.  </p><p><br/> “Do you know what pisses me off the most, Sam?”  He hit the tooth with his sword, chipping a huge chunk out of it.  “Everything!”  Sam caught his sword-arm; he attempted to disarm him, but Wrath butted him in the head with the hilt, stunning him momentarily.  He used the moment to pluck the tooth from Sam’s hand, shoving into his own pocket.  </p><p><br/> “This is so anti-climactic,” Lust sighed as he threw Dean into the TV.  </p><p><br/> “You’re bored already?  Fine.  My bet’s on the tall one,” said Wrath, blocking a punch from Sam before slashing him lightly across the chest with his blade.  The wound was superficial but still painful.</p><p><br/> “No, you’re wrong.  Dean’s got more anger issues.  And more libido.”</p><p><br/> “Let’s find out, shall we?”  Wrath snapped his fingers, activating his power.  </p><p><br/> The Winchesters paused as anger washed over them.  </p><p><br/> “You two have had your issues is the past,” Wrath purred.  “Dean is over-controlling and judges you too harshly, for example.  And he killed a friend of yours.  Sam acts rashly and makes poor decisions that get people killed, or worse, like freeing Lucifer from Hell.  And I’m curious, both of you:  How does that really make you feel?”<br/> Sam and Dean started to shout and argue with each other, forgetting Lust and Wrath.  The shouting match quickly escalated to swinging fists, then knives.  The Sins watched eagerly, like lions waiting for their prey to exhaust itself.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The thoughts in Ash’s head were starting to weave into her own personal consciousness.  What had been the memory of Janet DuBois, a 24-year-old teacher’s aide from London, was now trying to pass itself off as one of Ash’s own memories.  Janet had met Greg at a party; Janet was a little buzzed but not wasted, just loose enough to lower her inhibitions enough to talk to the cute guy by the beer pong table.  They’d started talking, and Greg seemed to be really into her; he’d suggested they go outside to talk, where it wasn’t as loud.  He’d grabbed her another drink and they’d sat on the back porch, and he was sweet and funny and really listened to her.  Janet yawned, suddenly tired, and rested her head on Greg’s shoulder, closing her eyes for just a moment.</p><p><br/> The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back on a bed, naked from the waist down.  She tried to sit up, but she felt so heavy, like she was made out of molasses.  <br/> “Jeez, that wore off quick,” said Greg as he removed his belt, but now Greg looked like Dean, and Ash was Janet.  </p><p><br/> Janet/Ash opened her mouth to ask what was happening, but she couldn’t make words form.  </p><p><br/> Greg/Dean pulled his cock out and began stroking himself.  After a few pumps with his hand, he climbed onto the bed next to her and laid down, grinding his dick against her hip as he slipped his fingers inside her.  </p><p><br/> She burst into tears.  “Please, stop,” she cried.</p><p><br/> “Ashes!” a voice snapped, and the image disappeared.  </p><p><br/> Suddenly she was in Crowley’s study.  The room was massive, dark, and decorated by someone who didn’t see a need for color.  There was a black desk, black chairs, and black bookshelves.  On one wall was a massive stone fireplace, made exclusively of black stone.  Ash had been there many times before.</p><p><br/> Crowley stood in front of his desk, arms crossed.  Ash blinked in confusion; she felt the floor pull out from under her and started to pitch backward.  Her vision blurred, and she could feel something tugging her back to the other reality.  She felt a hot hand grab her wrist, and the world righted itself: She was in the study, and the floor and everything else was as it should be.</p><p><br/> “What’s happening?” she gasped.</p><p><br/> “You’re fighting a Sin,” he snapped.  “Though you’re not very good at it.”</p><p><br/> It felt like that had been a long time ago.  She’d had so many people in her head since then…”Am I really here?”</p><p><br/> “No.  You’re still in a scuzzy hotel.  It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten fleas, really.”</p><p><br/> She felt her heart drop at the thought of being stuck in her own head with all those people’s feelings and memories again.  “How do I get it to stop?”</p><p><br/> Crowley released her wrist and put his arm around her shoulders.  Though she knew he wasn’t really there, she could still feel the heat of hellfire radiating from him.  “Do you know what makes you such a good little pet, Ashes?”</p><p><br/> Ash wasn’t sure if this was a rhetorical question or not, but he didn’t answer himself, so she tried: “Because I’ll do whatever you say?”</p><p><br/> Crowley smiled.  “But why?  Out of the goodness of your heart?  You work for a demon, so that can’t be it.  What you have, Ash, that I’ve really grown to treasure over the years, is fear.  You have an ungodly amount of it, pardon my language, and it makes you easy to work with.”</p><p><br/> Ash scowled.  She’d never thought of herself as being that fearful, but now that he said it, it did make sense.  </p><p><br/> “But what’s that saying about too much of a good thing?”  He shrugged.  “You know how it goes.  Even I need my employees to have some amount of courage—otherwise, nothing would ever get done.  No souls would go collected, leviathans would rule the Earth, and so on.”  He walked with her as he spoke, guiding her to sit next to him on a black leather couch.  “Right now, your head is full of the negativity of millions of souls.  They all feel fear, shame, and guilt.  The problem is, you’re identifying with them.  Empathizing.  And everyone feels those things to some extent, there’s no way around it.  But you feel them more.  And now you’re trying to absorb everyone else’s pain and take it on as your own, and that’s just not possible.  You have to let it go.”</p><p> Ash felt her eyes burning.  “How?”</p><p><br/> He smiled.  “There’s more than one Sin in that room with you.”</p><p><br/> She sniffled.  “Wrath.  I have to get angry?”</p><p><br/> “You’ve done a real fantastic job of suppressing it for almost 30 years.  I think that’s long enough.”</p><p><br/> Ash sagged into the couch.  She hadn’t gotten angry, not truly angry, hardly ever.  She’d been too afraid of losing control if she had.  If she’d tapped into her power—her true power—before she was meant to, she’d be exposing herself to all of Heaven and Hell, and Crowley said the angels would hunt her down and kill her, or try to use her against him.  Plus, she might kill a human, and that was one of the Things She Must Not Do.  Kill a human, Crowley said, and the whole plan goes out the window.  It was all about the Prophecy.  </p><p><br/> What did she have to get mad about, anyway?  She had things pretty good, over all: Crowley had sent her to a nice family, and she’d been a little girl’s corgi for a few years.  Sure, it had been…Disappointing…When he’d told her she needed to leave them, but she hadn’t gotten angry about it.  She hadn’t gotten angry about any of the people she’d gotten attached to and then taken away from.  Disappointed, yes; sad, of course; okay, so maybe underneath it all, she was a bit upset that she didn’t have a say in the matter, but it’s not like she could be angry at Crowley.</p><p><br/> Maybe she could be a little angry at Crowley.</p><p><br/> But he was just doing what needed to be done.  It was the other demons, the ones constantly trying to overthrow and kill him, that really pissed her off.  She wasn’t allowed in Hell much, or around demons at all, because she tended to unsettle them.  But sometimes, if a demon had been really bad, Crowley would let her watch while he tortured and killed it.  Her presence made them feel more human: They felt emotions that demons didn’t normally experience, and their sense of pain was heightened back to near-human levels.  Sometimes they would get so emotional, they would shout out things they had done while they were human that they regretted.  Crowley would tell her how they tried to kill him.  She could get angry about that.</p><p><br/> “That’s my girl.”  He nudged her to her feet.  “Knock ‘em dead.”</p><p><br/> Crowley disappeared, as did the study.  Ash faltered for a moment as she appeared back in another soul’s consciousness: This time, she saw a middle-aged man with a little boy.  She began to lose herself in the boy’s feelings, but Crowley’s command broke through her haze.  </p><p><br/> “Hey!” she snapped at the man.  “You think you’re tough, picking on a little kid?  You feel powerful, choosing a victim who can’t fight back?  He’s your age now, and he’s still trying to get over this moment!  You think you took his power for yourself, but you know what?  He’s still alive.  He’s a good person.  He has a job and a girlfriend, and she loves him and doesn’t judge him for what you did to him, even though he does!  So you can go to hell!”  She shifted into a dragon and ripped his head off.</p><p> </p><p> In a one-bedroom apartment in Alberta, Canada, a man woke up from a strange dream.  He felt a strange sense of validation, and a little more at peace with the world.  He laid back down, wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, and fell back asleep.</p><p> </p><p> Ash jolted awake.  She stayed still, trying to tell what was happening without tipping anyone off that she was conscious.  She could hear the sounds of feet moving across carpet and blows being exchanged, and Sam and Dean’s voices, yelling at each other.  She opened her eyes just enough to see what was going on, and saw all hell breaking loose.  You’re supposed to be fighting the Sins, not each other! She thought angrily.  She got to her feet; the Winchesters continued to fight, but the Sins sat up and took notice.  She could feel Lust inside her head again, filling her with paralyzing fear and shame.  She felt herself begin to freeze again, but she could still see Crowley in her mind, telling her to let it go.  </p><p><br/> “New game!” Lust called out, and the Winchesters froze.  “It’s like that ‘fuck, marry, kill’ one, except no one’s getting married.”</p><p><br/> Sam clutched at his head, the white-hot fire of wrath beginning to fade.  Dean spat blood out of his mouth.  </p><p><br/> “Holy shit.  I just tried to kill you.”</p><p><br/> “We can fight it,” Sam said through gritted teeth.  </p><p><br/> Ash took one step forward.  Reasons why I’m angry, she recited to herself.  I’m working with a couple of humans who hunt and kill things like me every day.  If they knew what I really was, they would have tried to kill me already.  Heaven wants to kill me, or…Enslave me, or something.  Every other demon on Hell and Earth would kill for the chance to catch me.  Monsters, humans, it doesn’t matter—everything is out to get me, so I keep my head down.  Be good, don’t make waves, don’t be who you truly are.  <br/> Lust and Wrath snapped their fingers in unison.  “You know I’ll win in the end,” Wrath said to his brother.  “I’ve always been the strongest.”</p><p><br/> “Ah, but I’ve adapted and grown along with you,” said Lust.  “There was a time when sex out of wedlock was punishable by death, and now look—I’ve moved on to the non-consensual market.”  He tilted his head thoughtfully as Sam and Dean doubled over under the new wave of power.  “You know what’s funny, though?  They loved killing the lady sluts, but hardly ever the men.  Seems a little unfair to place all the blame on them, eh?”  He shrugged.  “I guess some things never change, eh, kid?”  </p><p><br/> She snarled and began to shift.</p><p><br/> “Get her,” Wrath snapped.</p><p><br/> Dean reacted first.  He spun around, drawing the silver knife as he turned.  Ash hesitated halfway to becoming a dragon, aware that while she was vulnerable now, she’d only become a bigger target as a dragon.  But if she didn’t change, she couldn’t kill the damn Sin.  Unless she got one of the other teeth…</p><p><br/> Dean ran toward her, eyes blazing with hate.  Wrath giggled with glee: Dean already held so much anger, and he hated anything supernatural.  Sending him after the shifter was almost too easy.  Ash shrank back into a wolf just as Dean reached her: He slashed at her with the silver, missing her by the width of a hair.  She scrambled back, but there wasn’t much of anywhere to run to: In seconds, Dean had her backed into a corner.</p><p><br/> “Dean, stop!” Sam shouted, running toward them.</p><p><br/> Wrath stepped in his way, calmly swinging his sword at his side.  Sam went to grab his tooth and realized it was missing.  </p><p><br/> “What now, Winchester?”</p><p><br/> Sam punched him in his face.</p><p> <br/> Dean grabbed Ash by the throat, lifting her head up and slamming her into the wall.  She felt her brain bounce against her skull, and then the burning sensation of a silver knife pressed to her throat.  Dean looked like a rabid animal: He was drenched in sweat and blood (from his fight with Sam), he was practically foaming at the mouth, and his eyes were slightly unfocused.  </p><p><br/> Wrath threw Sam into the wall on the opposite side of the room so hard that he made a dent.  Sam slumped to the floor, momentarily stunned.  He turned to observe Dean’s drama unfolding.  “What are you waiting for?  Slit her throat!” Wrath shouted.</p><p><br/> Lust stepped in front of his brother, focusing his energy on Dean.  “No.  You want to punish her, don’t you?  She’s in league with the number one demon on your hit list, and she’s a shifter!  Fuck her!”</p><p><br/> Wrath shoved his brother aside.  “She’s a wolf, Lust.  Don’t be crude.”</p><p><br/> “Fuck you!  It’s called bestiality, and it’s no cruder than the shit on his laptop.”</p><p><br/> Sam staggered to his feet.  He could see the tooth sticking out of Wrath’s pocket.  Across the room, Dean faltered as the Sins fought for control of him.  For a moment, his eyes focused on the wolf, and the knife pressed deeper into her fur, just barely breaking the skin.  His eyes flickered for a moment; his grip tightened, and the blade bit further into her throat.</p><p><br/> Pain was an excellent motivator.  Ash felt the power in her anger, and kicked out with her rear legs, nailing Dean in the chest.  He was forced back, involuntarily releasing her, keeping the knife in his grip.  Before he could regain his footing, Ash bit his hand so he would drop the knife.  As it clattered to the floor, she grabbed the wooden hilt in her mouth, and ran.</p><p><br/> Dean caught her mid-leap, his hand closing around her right rear leg.  She fell to the floor, dropping the knife and feeling a muscle tear somewhere along her haunches.  He dragged her back toward him; she twisted around, snarling and snapping, but he was prepared for that: He used his free arm to push up on her chest, flipping her onto her back and knocking the wind out of her.  </p><p><br/> Sam reached out for the tooth.  Wrath snatched his hand and bent his arm back, trying to snap his wrist.  As he forced Sam to his knees, he brought the sword up in his other hand.</p><p><br/> “Dean!”</p><p><br/> Dean’s head snapped up, focusing on his brother’s distress call.  He leapt to his feet and charged at Wrath.  Lust didn’t even have time to react—he was still trying to convince Dean that his was clearly the path to choose, and stood dumbly to the side as he ran to rescue his brother.</p><p><br/> Dean threw his arm around Wrath’s neck, trying to choke him out.  Wrath released Sam’s arm and shrunk his sword into a dagger, stabbing Dean’s arm just above the elbow.  Dean clenched his jaw but refused to let go, so Wrath sank down and sprang up, flipping him over like a wrestler.  Dean hit the ground hard.  In his hand was a dragon’s tooth, stolen from Wrath’s belt.</p><p><br/> “Sam!”</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed the tooth and smashed it as hard as he could into Wrath’s chest.</p><p><br/> Ash rolled onto her feet.  Lust turned back to face her.  </p><p> I’m angry because you hurt people.  You hurt nice people and make them feel bad.  </p><p><br/> “You’ll never be able to do it,” Lust sneered.  “You’re afraid.  You have no power here.”  He stepped toward her.  “You’re just a monster!  You’re a freak of nature!”</p><p><br/> She tossed her head, whining.  His words were sinking straight into her psyche.  You don’t get to tell me what I am.  You don’t get to tell me how I feel.  </p><p><br/> “It’s too bad Dean never got the chance to hate-fuck you,” he hissed.  “I know how much he was looking forward to it.”</p><p><br/> The wolf growled, the sound vibrating through the floor.  It shifted, growing into a black dragon.  It took up most of the available space in the room, its head just inches from Lust.  And still the Sin didn’t back down.</p><p><br/> Wrath imploded and vanished.  </p><p><br/> “You are powerless!” Lust screamed at the dragon, forcing as much power into her as he could.  He could see the determination start to fade from her eyes, and grinned, knowing he’d won.  “I don’t care what shape you are, everyone lusts over something.  So what is it, Abomination?  What do you desire?  Power?  Freedom?  A pretty hunter with an anger management problem?”  He winked at Dean, who had been trying to sneak up behind him, and threw him into a wall.</p><p><br/> Ash felt like she was floating.  The Sin was using all its mojo on her, and it made her feel heavy and light at the same time.  Its power was similar to a demon’s power: Hot, tingly, but not painful.  Her head pounded and her heart was racing; her vision narrowed until she could focus on only what was right in front of her.  </p><p>Lust was right in front of her.  </p><p><br/> “What is it that you lust after, you strange, sad creature?” Lust hissed.</p><p><br/> Ash blinked.  Death.</p><p><br/> Her jaws clamped around the back of his neck, and he let out a bloody gurgle of alarm.  She felt muscle yield and bone crack, and then his whole body seemed to explode and implode all at once.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Sam and Dean got to their feet, breathing hard.  Sam sat down on the edge of a bed and felt the gash on his chest; Dean leaned against a wall, surveying the damage to the room.  Ash tried to back up and her tail smacked the heating register.  To avoid damaging the property further, she shifted down to a German Shepherd.  </p><p><br/> “You gonna make it, Sam?”</p><p><br/> Sam took his shirt off, tucking his chin to his chest so he could get a better look at the wound.  “It’s fine, right?”  He used what was left of his shirt to dab at the blood around the wound.</p><p>Dean came over to inspect it himself.  “Eh, I wouldn’t take a chance with it.”  He grabbed their first aid kit and pulled out a needle and thread.  “You don’t close it up now, it’ll get infected.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed.  “Alright, fine.”  He held his hand out for the sewing kit.  “Give me the good stuff.”</p><p><br/> Dean handed him a bottle of scotch; Sam took a swig, then splashed some on his chest to cleanse the cut.  He awkwardly positioned the needle where he wanted it, going cross-eyed.  </p><p><br/> “Hold on, Sammy.  Maybe I should do this one.”</p><p><br/> “No, no, I got it.  I just need a mirror.”  He stood up and his head spun.  He sat back down, pressing a palm to his forehead.  “Ugh.  I feel like I have the worst hangover.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, me too,” Dean said, plucking the needle from his brother’s hand.  “Alright, assume the position.”</p><p><br/> Sam glared at his brother, but laid down on his back in compliance.  “Fine.”</p><p><br/> Dean slid the needle into his brother’s skin and began patiently stitching him back together.  Ash hopped onto the bed and began licking the blood off his face.  Sam reached up to scratch her head.  </p><p><br/> “Shit!” he hissed as Dean stabbed him too deeply.  “Watch what you’re doing, Dean.”</p><p><br/> “My bad.”  Dean glanced up at Ash as he pulled the string taut, then back down at the wound so he wouldn’t stab the wrong spot again.  He looked like he wanted to say something to her, but decided against it.  He finished sewing Sam up in silence, punctuated by the occasional curse from him.</p><p><br/> Sam sat up and ran his hand over the stitches.  He grabbed a new shirt and started to pack the rest of their things.  “We should get out of here.”</p><p><br/> “The damage isn’t that bad,” Dean said.  “It’s just the TV, and the wall, and that wall over there, and the floor…”</p><p><br/> The moon was low in the sky, and a line of red light was just barely visible on the eastern horizon when they trudged out to the car.  Dean looked from the car to Ash and back to the car, and she swore she could hear him whimpering quietly.  Oh right, no dogs in the car.  </p><p><br/> “Oh, let it go,” Sam chided him as he watched Dean struggling to decide whether or not to say something.  “You just tried to kill her, you can let her in the car as a dog.”</p><p><br/> Dean glared at his brother over the roof.  </p><p><br/> “Alright, not a dog anymore.  Let’s go,” Ash said, opening the door and sliding into the back seat.  She started dressing in the clothes she’d abandoned earlier. </p><p><br/> Dean and Sam shared a look.  Sam shrugged; they got into the car, and Dean started to drive.  As he pulled onto the main road, he thought about what he should say to her: ‘I’m sorry I tried to kill you, but I’d do it again if you threatened me or Sammy’ didn’t sound very apologetic, but it was the best his brain could do after being scrambled around by the Sins.  He turned up the radio, hoping something better would come to him.</p><p> <br/> “Hey,” Sam said, breaking his train of thought.  “We good?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  We’re good.”  They’d known each other long enough, and fought each other enough, to know not to take offense at an angry, overly emotional shouting and punching match fueled by a creature of Hell.  </p><p><br/> Sam turned his head to check on Ash.  Her eyes weren’t glowing, which was probably a good sign, but he still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with her.  “Ash?  How you holding up?”</p><p><br/> She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.  “Fine.  Just tired.”</p><p><br/> They drove for while with just the radio.  Ash passed out as soon as they got on the highway, and Sam fell asleep not long after.  Dean wasn’t even sure where he was going, except away from Salem.  He headed west, on the general principle that being closer to Chicago meant being closer to bringing down Dick Roman, but if anything else were to catch their attention he had no problem changing course.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Ash and Sam woke as the car’s engine shut off.</p><p><br/> “We’re in New York,” Dean announced.  “And I need coffee, or the next leg of the trip is going to be real short.”</p><p><br/> They refueled at a gas station with a Dunkin’ Donuts attached to it, which meant the coffee would be slightly better than the usual bottom-of-the-pot sludge they tended to find.  Sam took the opportunity to call Garth.</p><p> <br/> “You got anything for us?”</p><p><br/> “I got dick on Dick,” he grumbled.  “His parent company’s buying up meat packing plants and slaughterhouses, so that’s…Cheery.  Where are you right now?”</p><p><br/> “New York.”</p><p><br/> “Well, it’s not leviathan related, but I got a case just outside Buffalo you could look into.  There’s an old church that’s been turned into an event space—lotta bar mitzvahs, weddings, class reunion type stuff—and it’s just made the local news.  Seventy-five people vanished from there two nights ago.  There was a wedding reception; one of the bridesmaids went out to her car to grab something from her purse.  When she went back inside, everyone was gone.  Vanished into thin air.”</p><p><br/> “Alright, we’ll take a look.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3: Wedding Crashers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The boys investigate the case of a vanished wedding reception.  Did someone say 'open bar'?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wedding Crashers</p><p><br/> They arrived in Lancaster, NY, early in the afternoon, and headed straight to a local diner.  Sam started researching the “vanishing wedding” incident on his phone, but there wasn’t a lot of information online.  They’d need to interview the sole witness, a 24-year-old waitress named Alicia Barnes.  </p><p><br/> “According to her Facebook profile, she works at TGI Friday’s,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “Ooh, I love their fried green beans,” Dean drooled.  “You know what I haven’t had in a while though, is really good—”</p><p><br/> “Pie?” Sam finished.  He twirled a little table tent around so Dean could read the other side.  The diner had a special on apple pie, made from local New York apples.  Dean’s eyes lit up.  </p><p><br/> A waitress appeared to take their order; once she’d left, Sam went back to his phone.  “I’m not seeing anything else that stands out about the event center.  It was originally a Methodist church, bought by Lunt Enterprises in 2005.  They converted the church hall into multiple large meeting spaces with movable walls, so they could host multiple events of different sizes at the same time.  However, at the time of the wedding’s disappearance, they were the only client on site.”</p><p><br/> “I imagine they’ve closed the site to any future events until they figure out what’s going on?”</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head.  “They’d lose too much money.  Looks like there’s bingo every Wednesday. Then weddings Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, so today’s Tuesday—”</p><p><br/> “It’s Thursday,” Sam corrected.  </p><p><br/> Dean groaned.  “Okay, so it’s Thursday.  That gives us the rest of today and tomorrow to figure out what’s going on.  I’ll take the waitress, you take Ash and sniff around the building, see if you find anything out of the ordinary.”</p><p><br/> No fair, Sam thought bitterly.  You always interview the chicks.  I hope this one’s a fat lesbian.</p><p><br/> Ash heard his thought and snorted in a poor attempt to hide a sudden burst of laughter.</p><p><br/> “What?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “Sorry.  Dust.”  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing again.  “What’s bingo?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They checked into a hotel, and Dean immediately crashed onto a bed.</p><p><br/> “Dean?  The waitress?”</p><p><br/> “She won’t get off work till late at night anyway,” Dean mumbled into a pillow.  “Some of us didn’t have the luxury of sleeping from Salem to Lancaster.”</p><p><br/> Undaunted, Sam changed into his false federal agent getup and brought his working dog, Ash, to inspect Lunt Event Center.  He was met by a young, attractive woman with a disproportionately large bosom, currently being showcased by her lowcut top.  Finally, he thought, Dean’s not the only one with an attractive interviewee.  Her name was Samantha, and Sam was almost tempted to give her his real first name just so she’d know they had that in common, but it would have conflicted with his badge, so he let it slide.  She was fairly distraught about the whole vanishing act: Two of her good friends were working the reception that evening, and they’d been in the ballroom when everyone disappeared.  </p><p><br/> “It was almost the end of their shifts, anyway.  The couple had the hall till eleven, and it was around 10:30.  Most of the kitchen crew had left already, but the bartender and dishwashers were still working, along with one of our event coordinators.  None of us knew what was going on—the police called the owner at, like, 2 am, and he texted all of us the next morning.  The cops scoured the place, but couldn’t find anything unusual—no blood, no overturned chairs or tables—the only mess was from a few glasses that had shattered on the floor.”  She sniffled.  “Robyn and Tina were in there…I tried calling their phones right away; they always have them on, even at work; but both of them went straight to voicemail.”</p><p><br/> “Samantha, do you mind if I take a look around?  See if I spot anything the cops might have missed?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “Of course.  We’ve already cleaned up quite a bit, though—bingo’s Wednesday, the seniors never miss it.”</p><p><br/> He squeezed her hand.  “I’ll find out what happened to your friends.”</p><p><br/> Samantha looked at him with grateful, watery eyes.  “Thank you, Agent Klein.”</p><p><br/> Ash gave Sam a sideways look as they entered the ballroom/banquet hall.  </p><p><br/> “What?  You’ve never seen an FBI interview before?”</p><p><br/> They circled the room.  Ash focused on the floor, while Sam searched for evidence closer to his own eye level.  A few employees popped in and continued to clean up the mess left by the wedding and prepare for bingo night, preventing Sam from speaking his thoughts out loud to the dog.  They explored the kitchen and storage room, which was mostly full of extra tables and linens; last on the list were a ‘bride’s suite’ and ‘groom’s suite,’ two rooms built to hold the bride, groom, and their wedding parties before the ceremony.  They could easily be used to store coats for any winter event, or securely lock up presents at a bar or bat mitzvah.  </p><p><br/> Sam shut the door of the groom’s suite, locking it behind him.  “I got a trace of sulfur, but this doesn’t feel like demons to me.  They don’t just vaporize a crowd of people.  You catch anything?”  He slipped his jacket off, holding it out for her.  </p><p><br/> Ash shifted to human and took the jacket.  “I got a lot of sulfur.  I know it’s not normally their thing, but I really smell demon here.”</p><p><br/> “What would they want with all those people?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “They could be trying to get a bunch of souls all at once.  You get a few demons spread out around the room, they work together to zap everyone to…Somewhere else, somewhere no one would look, like an old warehouse.  Then you convince them to sell you their souls for…I don’t know…Not killing a loved one, maybe?  There’s a lot of families and couples at weddings, not to mention the people actually getting married.  I bet you could cut a lot of deals that way.”</p><p><br/> Sam looked at her suspiciously, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to rise.  “You work for Crowley.”</p><p><br/> Ash saw the look in his eyes, and she could feel his trepidation rising.  For a moment, she’d forgotten how much hunters hated demons.  “Just ‘cause they’re demons, doesn’t mean they’re working for him.  Crowley may be the king, but there are plenty of demons who don’t like him—Lucifer loyalists, or some that think they can take his position for themselves—"</p><p><br/> “And how do I know that’s true?  Let’s say it is demons here.  I’m willing to trust you on Sins, and I’ll trust you on leviathans.  But I can’t trust you on demons, not when your boss is the man in charge.  It’s a conflict of interest, but you’re always going to side with him over us.  See the problem?”</p><p><br/> She pulled his jacket tighter around herself.  “What do you want me to do, Sam?  You want me to sit this one out?  No problem.  You want me to go?  Fine.  I’ll get a head start on the leviathans for you.”  She stepped back.  “You want to kill me?”  </p><p><br/> Sam clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair, thinking.  His other hand slipped to his silver knife, and Ash took another step back, tensing for an attack.  </p><p><br/> “No, I’m not going to kill you,” he sighed.  “I don’t know what to do with you.”  As much as he hated how overbearing Dean could be at times, this was one instance where he would have preferred his brother around to call the shots.  What would he do now?  He’d probably tie her up and interrogate her about Crowley’s plans, and if that failed, he’d summon the demon himself, using Ash as a bargaining chip.  The only trouble with that was, they didn’t actually know how important Ash was to him.  She’d said he owned her—not in a soul transaction type of deal, but more like the way a human owns a dog.  If he owned her, she must have some value, but was it enough to negotiate with?  “If there’s nothing else to see here, we should head back.”</p><p><br/> She handed him his jacket and changed back into a dog; on they way out, he stopped to talk to Samantha again, giving him her card in case she thought of anything else that might help.  Then he hurried back to the hotel, where Dean would have a solid idea of what to do.</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Dean was out cold when Sam returned.  Knowing Dean never slept well anyway, Sam took pity on him and didn’t wake him up.  He sat down on the other bed and turned the TV on low volume, hoping to find something mindless and funny.  What he found was Dick Roman’s stupid face, still plastered on all the news channels.  </p><p><br/> “Son of a bitch,” he hissed under his breath.  He looked around for Ash; she was lying by the door, looking like a dog whose owner had just beaten her with a large stick.  Sam sighed: The dog thing was killing him.  He wanted to rub her tummy and scratch behind her ears, feed her little bits of burger and throw a ball for her.  He was having an increasingly difficult time remembering that she wasn’t really a dog at all, despite the fact that twenty minutes ago she’d been a practically naked human.  He realized he was starting to think of her as a dog that could turn into a human, rather than a shape-shifter that could turn into a dog.  Human was a shifter’s natural shape, right?  He’d never really given it too much thought up till now—he’d always been too concerned with killing one to worry about its biology.  </p><p><br/> He tried to remind himself that this was Crowley’s bitch, that she was in league with demons and he didn’t need to be nice to her.  Sure, she had attacked the leviathans when he’d gotten cornered in the warehouse—probably saved his life, now he came to think about it—and she’d helped them take out the Seven Deadly Sins.  He wondered what they would have done without her—how would they have found a virgin who was also on board with destroying a supernatural being from Hell?  But that didn’t excuse the fact that she worked for an arch-nemesis.  Crowley was evil, period.  </p><p><br/> Sam caught her eye and beckoned her over.  She obeyed, stopping in front of the nightstand that sat between the two beds, and looked up at him expectantly.  Waiting for her next order.</p><p><br/> Sam’s thoughts wavered between ‘what a good dog’ and ‘no one is this complacent without having the will beaten out of them first.’  He wondered how long Crowley had had her tortured for to get her to this point.  </p><p><br/> “You can sit up here if you want,” he said quietly, so as not to wake Dean, patting an empty patch of blanket beside him.  The dog looked at him for a moment, then lowered her ears and whined.  Sam held his hands up.  “No, I’m not going to try to kill you.  Promise.”</p><p><br/> Ash hopped onto the bed and settled down at his side so that she was lying facing the TV with her left side against his right leg.  He automatically started to pet her, the ‘dog loving’ part of his brain outweighing the ‘shapeshifters are evil’ bit yet again.  They watched a little of the news on Dick Roman, but it was just the same old crap about how amazing he was and how he was going to save the world.  Ash could feel Sam getting more and more pissed off; she could even hear the new curses he was inventing in his head.  It was a relief when he finally broke down and changed the channel.  </p><p><br/> He found football, which Ash had tried and failed for years to understand.  She got the general idea: Get the ball to your team’s end zone, and/or kick a field goal; but the different plays, constant starting and stopping, and just about everything the commentators said made little sense to her.  Her last owner had been a big Patriots fan, having lived in New England, but as a dog she couldn’t exactly ask him questions.  Crowley had mentioned that some of his demons had been in the NFL, having sold their souls for athletic success, but she wasn’t about to track them down and ask them why the hell they felt the need to play football.  (Apparently, Tom Brady had a special extended 20-year contract just to piss off everybody else.)</p><p> </p><p> The game soon lulled Ash into a dreamless sleep.  A noise nearby startled her awake: Dean was up, and he did not look happy.  She twisted her head around and saw that Sam had also fallen asleep, and somehow managed to scoot down and twist himself so that his head rested just below her ribcage.  Dean cleared his throat purposefully, and Sam’s eyes flew open.  He sat up, yawned, then realized he’d been sleeping on the dog.  She hopped off the bed and slunk under the table, hoping to avoid Dean’s glare.  </p><p><br/> Dean crossed his arms, focused for now on his brother.  “What are you doing?”</p><p><br/> Sam blinked owlishly, his half-awake brain trying to process why Dean was upset with him.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “She’s not a dog!  She is a shapeshifter!  You don’t—don’t—Cuddle with her!”</p><p><br/> Sam smoothed his hair back, glancing from his brother to the dog.  Right.  Not a dog.  I know that.  “We weren’t…I just fell asleep weird, okay?  Geez.  Give it a rest.”</p><p><br/> Dean brought his hand to his face, pressing his palm to his forehead, and took a deep breath.  “You’re getting too friendly with her.”  Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Dean cut him off.  “Yeah, I know we decided to keep her around, and I said I’d be nice to her, but there’s a difference between being nice and—and—cuddling,” he sneered.</p><p><br/> “I was not—”</p><p><br/> “She was next to you and you were petting her.  You can’t not pet a dog, Sam.  I know you.  Petting is the dog equivalent of cuddling.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes narrowed.  “I don’t think you got enough sleep.”</p><p><br/> Dean threw his hands up in surrender and turned away.  “Fine.  You know what?  You do you.  I’m clearly just being overprotective, ‘cause that’s my job.”  He spun back to face him.  “But at the end of the day, once we do what Crowley sent her here to do, she’s gonna betray us.”  The anger on his face melted into something resembling regret.  “I just don’t want you to get too attached.  It makes it harder to kill ‘em in the end.”  He exhaled forcefully.  “And I’m trying real hard not to bring up Ru—”</p><p><br/> Sam shot to his feet, his arms tensed and his hands balled into fists.  “Then don’t,” he snapped.  His eyes darted to the side.  “The door’s open.”</p><p><br/> Dean turned to look at the door, then glanced under the table.  “Shit.”  The dog was gone.</p><p><br/> “Just let her go,” Sam sighed.  “She’s probably just sick of us bitching about her.  Crowley isn’t going to let her go far—he wants her here with us.”</p><p><br/> Dean walked to the door and peered outside.  A young woman with short black hair, wearing a tube top and mini skirt with 6-inch heels, was smoking a cigarette while sitting on the hood of a red Mustang.  She nodded to him politely.</p><p><br/> “Was that your dog?”</p><p><br/> “You see where it went?”</p><p><br/> She pointed her cigarette hand down the line of rooms.  “Some guy came out and she followed him into his room.  Uh…That one there—113.”</p><p><br/> Dean felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.  “A white guy with black hair and a really nice suit?”</p><p><br/> “Oh, so you know ‘im.”</p><p><br/> He sighed.  “Yeah, we’re great pals.”  He ducked back into the room.  “Crowley’s here,” he advised Sam.  “Let’s go.”</p><p><br/> “Or,” Sam said, “We could not go visit the King of Hell, and wait for her to come back.”</p><p><br/> “Or: Meanwhile, he’s telling her how to kill the leviathans without our help, and she can gank us now.  Come on, let’s go!”</p><p><br/> Sam groaned.  “Where’s the knife?”</p><p><br/> Dean pulled the demon knife out of his pocket.  “Come on.  I’m sure he’s expecting us.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Sam brought his lockpick kit up to the door handle of room 113, but before he even had it in the lock the door swung open on its own.  He jumped back in surprise, stepping on Dean’s foot, who cursed quietly.  </p><p><br/> “Ever tried knocking?” a familiar voice called from within.  “Please, come in.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean slunk inside; they jumped again as the door shut itself behind them.  </p><p><br/> This room was nothing like theirs.  It was larger; even the ceiling was higher; and the walls were painted black.  Instead of the usual saggy bed with a comforter that hadn’t been washed in five years, there was a king-sized four-poster (with black wood posts) with a crisp, clean, blood-red silk comforter.  Instead of a dinky side table and poorly upholstered chairs, there was a full-sized table with four wooden chairs (all black).  There was also an extraordinarily large fireplace, which provided most of the light for the room.  Crowley was standing by the fire; the dog was sitting at his feet.</p><p><br/> “Crowley,” Dean greeted him.  “You, uh…You always travel with your…”</p><p><br/> “Sex dungeon?” Sam finished.  </p><p><br/> Crowley chuckled.  “I believe we’re working the same case, yet again.” He turned to Ash: “Human.  We need to have a chat with the whole family.”</p><p><br/> Ash changed to her human form.  She could feel Sam and Dean actively trying to ignore the fact that there was now a naked girl in the room, while also refusing to take their eyes off Crowley.  One of Dean’s thought’s popped into her head: Not real not real not real, dear Jesus that’s not a real chick do not be attracted to that…Crowley snapped his fingers, instantly clothing her in jeans and a t-shirt.  He snapped his fingers again, and now all four of them were seated at the table: Crowley and Ash on one side, Sam and Dean on the other.  </p><p><br/> “Gentlemen,” he began, leaning comfortably back in his seat, “The case of the disappearing wedding guests, eh?  How nice you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”<br/> Sam shot forward, and Dean had to restrain him from actually leaping over the table to get at the demon.  “It is you!  She said it was demons!  What did you do to them?”<br/> “As flattered as I am that you thought of me first, I can’t take credit for it.  It’s one of my many contenders, trying to get a leg up on me.  Damien,” Crowley snarled.  “He would’ve been next in line after Lucifer—in his own mind, at least.  He doesn’t like how I’m running things, wants all the power for himself.  But he doesn’t understand how it works, doesn’t see the point in the long game.  If he was in charge, he’d have every soul on Earth in his pocket by the end of the month, and Hell would be out of business.”<br/> “So you’re saying it can get worse than you,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Crowley laughed.  “I’m the best you’ll ever have, mate.”  He leaned forward, hands on the table.  “Let me put it like this: I run hell like a well-oiled machine.  It’s a business.  We make trades, we take souls, we make demons.  It’s sustainable.  These other schmucks get their claws on the reins, they’re going to take what they can up front and not give a thought to the end result—they’re going to run her into the ground.  Now, if you think about Hell vs. the ground, that means, figuratively at least, running Hell onto Earth.  You’ve already got enough on your plate; do you really need that?”</p><p><br/> “We’re supposed to believe you’re the ‘good guy?’” Sam scoffed.</p><p><br/> “I am the lesser of all your evils.  Which practically makes me a saint, I’d say.”</p><p><br/> “So you need us to go fight these demons before they amass enough soul power to defeat you,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Crowley grinned.  “You need you to go fight these demons, so you can continue to deal with your nicer, more easy-going king of hell.” </p><p><br/> “And what about Shifty over here?  Why’s she suddenly reading minds?  That’s not typical for shape-shifters.”</p><p><br/> “She only presents as a shapeshifter,” Crowley replied.  “She’s more of a…Nephilim hybrid.  Technically, she’s called an Abomination.  Or The Abomination, really.  Created by a demon and a fallen angel.”</p><p><br/> Sam inhaled sharply and choked, launching into a coughing fit.  Dean leapt to his feet but kept his eyes on Ash, who looked guilty.</p><p><br/> “A—Holy shit,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair.  “That’s—She should be one of the most powerful beings in the universe—"</p><p><br/> Crowley remained calm and relaxed.  “You’re being dramatic.  She’s no more of a threat to you than she ever was.  She can’t help how she’s made.”</p><p><br/> Ash tensed as Dean produced a flask, quickly unscrewing the top, and splashed holy water on her.  It had no effect; she blinked and shook her head, wiping her face dry.  <br/> “Yes, I’ve tried that already,” Crowley said.  “She’s fine with salt and holy water, but if you come at her with an angel blade, I’ll have your intestines strung round your neck faster than you can scream.”</p><p><br/> “So how can she shapeshift?” Sam asked.  “And why is she vulnerable to silver?”</p><p><br/> “She’s vulnerable to silver because she can shapeshift.  Why she can do that is anybody’s guess.  There hasn’t been anything quite like her ever; she’s only mentioned in prophecy.  We’ve been trying to avoid her other…Abilities, to keep her under the radar from certain nosy feather-brains.”</p><p><br/> “Why did you give her to us?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “Because I didn’t think your bloody angel was going to get inside her head!”  Crowley rose to his feet suddenly, slamming his fists into the table.  The fire flared ominously.  “And you two morons can’t handle the leviathans on your own.”  He shoved his hands into his pockets, studying Ash.  Her eyes were locked on him, and there was a certain dog-like quality about the way she looked at him.  He knew she could feel his anger—soon it would overwhelm her system and she would black out again.  He sat down and shifted both their chairs so they were facing each other, ignoring the two nitwits, and leaned forward.  </p><p><br/> “You’re going to learn to control it.  But first, I need you to stop those demons.”</p><p><br/> He pulled a small glass bottle out of his pocket and tipped it so that a few drops of what looked like canola oil dripped onto his fingers.  Ash wrinkled her nose like she could smell something foul.  Sam and Dean couldn’t smell anything over the sulfur-smell of the demon.  </p><p><br/>“I know,” Crowley said, sounding almost sympathetic, “But it will help block out all the distractions.”</p><p><br/>Ash held still as he brought his hand to her forehead, though she looked nauseous.  He drew a symbol on her skin, but because he used the oil it was impossible for the humans to tell what he was drawing.  </p><p><br/> “What are you doing?” Dean snapped.</p><p><br/> Crowley glanced over at Dean with a devilish grin.  “What’s it to you?  She’s just another monster.”  He turned his attention back to Ash to finish the design.  </p><p><br/> Dean crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to acknowledge Crowley’s comment.  Why did he care?  Because, as much as you hate to admit it, you know she saved Sam’s ass back at the warehouse.  He scowled at Crowley as the demon began muttering under his breath in Latin.  </p><p><br/> Ash groaned and shivered.  </p><p> <br/> “Done.  You’ll have a real nasty headache for about the next 24 hours,” Crowley advised her.  “A side effect, I’m afraid, but I can’t have you blacking out every five minutes.”</p><p><br/> “What was that?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> Crowley slipped the liquid back into his pocket.  “Oil of mistletoe.  A small amount on the skin is only a mild poison, but it’s enough to weaken her system sufficiently for the spell to work.  I basically gave her brain Novocain so she doesn’t feel overwhelmed by the thoughts of everyone around her.  It’ll last about as long as the headache, which is enough time to stop Damien’s minions.”</p><p><br/> Dean cocked his head to the side.  “Oil of mistletoe?  The plant?”</p><p><br/> Crowley gave Dean a look that said, ‘I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t think anyone was this retarded.’  “Aren’t you a hunter?  Didn’t dear old Dad leave you some sort of manual?”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both bristled at the mention of their father.  Crowley shrugged.  “I suppose he couldn’t know everything.  Mistletoe is toxic to humans and most other animals when eaten—which no one ever does—but it’s highly toxic to shapeshifters and werewolves, along with some other…Less common beasties.  Villagers in werewolf-intensive areas used to coat their doors in oil of mistletoe to keep them at bay.  Shifters can handle more of it, hence why she’s not screaming right now.”</p><p><br/> Dean made a mental note to add that to their journal.  Granted, Crowley was the one saying it, so it might not be true; but it was worth testing out when they got a chance.  “You know where this Damien guy’s going to strike next?”</p><p><br/> Ash leaned her head on Crowley’s shoulder, looking like she’d had one too many drinks.  He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder.  The demon could feel the pain in her head, which started in her forehead and radiated down around her temples, looping down the back of her neck and into her spine.  I wish I didn’t have to hurt her to help her, he thought.  </p><p><br/> Holy hell, what was that?  Did…Did I just feel compassion?  Crowley suddenly wanted to be very, very far away from her.  That was the trouble with Ash: Stay around her for too long, and he would start feeling…feelings again.  And no self-respecting demon wanted that.</p><p><br/> “There is a wedding tomorrow night, reception to follow at the same event center as the last party that disappeared.  Now I know you’re wondering, why strike the same place twice?  Who could be that deliberately stupid?  Damien could.  He’s desperate for souls, and the clock is ticking.  This group’s going to have about 250 souls in attendance—he’s not going to pass it up.”</p><p><br/> “How is he getting these souls?” Dean asked.  </p><p><br/> “Cheating.  There’ll be a group of them that work a spell to transport the entire crowd—it’s difficult, but can be done.  They’ll be able to move them up to twenty miles away.  Then they’ll separate them, one by one, and convince them to sell their souls to protect someone else they brought with them.  But they’ll do that with all of them—double-crossing their contracts, essentially.  And instead of waiting ten years, they’ll claim all the contracts right away, giving Damien an immense surge of power.”</p><p><br/> “Told you,” Ash said to Sam.</p><p><br/> “Why don’t more demons do that?  Seems like the way to get ahead,” Sam said.  </p><p><br/> Crowley glared at him.  “It’s not good business, and it’s not sustainable.  People are going to wise up and stop dealing with us altogether if we can’t keep our end of the deal.  We have a reputation to maintain.”</p><p><br/> “Right,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  “So we crash this wedding and kill Damian—that’s all?”</p><p><br/> “Simple, straight-forward; I’m sure it won’t be a problem at all for you.  I’d go myself,” Crowley said, “But I’d be rather conspicuous.”</p><p><br/> “So how many demons should we expect?”</p><p><br/> “To move all 250…”  Crowley did a quick calculation in his head.  “At least ten.  Fifteen would be ideal, as insurance against hunters.” </p><p><br/>“What about Ash?”</p><p><br/> Crowley snapped his fingers again, and Ash’s outfit changed to a dark blue cocktail dress.  She jumped in surprise.</p><p><br/> “Take her with you.  She has a way of driving demons absolutely insane.”  He stood up and patted her head.  “Well, back to work.”  And with that, he vanished, along with his version of the room.  </p><p><br/> <br/> Back in their own quarters, Sam and Dean both paced around the tiny space, trying to make sense of the demon.  Ash took the opportunity to change out of the dress Crowley had given her and returned to being a dog.  ‘Dog’ felt safer than ‘human,’ sort of like being wrapped in a security blanket.  </p><p><br/> “We could just not help him,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “And let two hundred-plus people get sent straight to hell?” Dean countered, shaking his head.  “He knows we’ll do it.  We were going to do it anyway, it’s just that now we know he wants us to…”</p><p><br/> Ash whimpered and Dean glanced down at her.  She’d settled herself across the doorway, like an oversized draft stopper.</p><p> <br/> “We should get ready for tomorrow,” Sam said.  “I’ll get in touch with the event center, get us set up as undercover agents.”</p><p><br/> Dean nodded.  “I’ll check out the bridesmaid, see if she saw anything that might help us.  Ash, you good here?  I’ll grab you some food while I’m out.”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded and wagged her tail.</p><p><br/> Dean caught the look.  “Look: I’m not saying I trust you, because I don’t.  But I don’t think you’re going to run out and burn the town down if I leave you alone for a couple hours.”<br/> </p><p> </p><p><br/> Dean’s lead turned out to be a bit of a bust.  She’d been too busy helping the bride to pay attention to anything else, and when she realized everyone had vanished she’d become hysterical—she really had no memory for detail, and she couldn’t tell him if any of the guests or workers were acting odd prior to the disappearance.  She was also in a happy and committed long-term relationship with another woman (who had been sick the night of the wedding, thus saving herself from an eternity in hell), so there was no chance of her hooking up with him, either.  Dean returned home with takeout, at least, giving Ash her first taste of fried green beans.</p><p><br/> Sam had a more successful evening.  Samantha had already left work for the day, but she suggested they could meet at a diner near her apartment to go over the plan for the next day.  As it turned out, the bride was aware of the previous reception’s disappearance and was terrified that something similar would happen to her own; but she’d been planning her wedding for years, her friends and family were already in town, and postponing would be, in her mind at least, a literal hell having to deal with all the details again.  She was more than happy to let the FBI agents attend if it meant having her evening run smoother (and also, if Uncle Adam got a little too drunk and rowdy, there would be professionals who could escort him out).  </p><p><br/> Sam’s evening became even more successful when Samantha invited him back to her apartment for a drink, confessing that her own nerves were just about shot regarding the possibility of vanishing tomorrow night, and that she could use some company, if he possibly was going to go off the clock soon?  Sam texted Dean that he’d see him in the morning.  Be nice, he ended with.  This is not the night to start a war with Crowley.</p><p><br/> Dean tossed his phone onto the little table.  He knew he shouldn’t be jealous of Sam for hooking up—after all, wasn’t he usually the one sending the ‘don’t wait up for me’ message?  And he shouldn’t be miffed at his brother for worrying about his conduct.  As if he would kill a Nephilim hybrid, probably capable of destroying countless lives, just because it was in front of him!  Okay, so that part sounded completely reasonable.  He’d been wary about the shapeshifter, but now that he knew she was part-demon, part-angel (part fallen angel, whatever that meant.  He’d thought Lucifer was the only ‘fallen angel’), it really did seem like the intelligent move would be to kill her.  There were three reasons not to, though: One, and Sam was correct about this, was that it would trigger a war with Crowley they weren’t sure they could win.  It was one thing just getting in his way or killing some of his agents once in a while, but slaying a weapon of mass destruction he’d been working on for 30 years would really piss him off.  Two, she had helped them—probably even saved Sam’s life back with the leviathans—and killing her would be a poor way of saying thanks; plus, she could still be helpful in the future.  And third, even though they’d killed monsters just for existing in the past, it was much easier to kill something that was trying to kill you, as opposed to something that seemed perfectly happy curled up at your feet.  </p><p><br/> “Sam’s got a date,” Dean advised Ash.  “So, uh…I guess you get your own bed tonight.”</p><p><br/> Ash tilted her head to the side.  She was currently human so that she could eat with him, because scarfing down the takeout as a dog felt like it would be rude.  “Are you going back out?”</p><p><br/> “I…Wasn’t planning on it, no.  Why?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “Because you’d rather be anywhere than stuck here with me.”  He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke again: “Your hierarchy of hate puts demons above shapeshifters, and I’m both,” she said.  “Add onto that how you feel about Crowley, and you really have to work not to stab me right now.”</p><p><br/> “Well that’s not…Entirely…”  He shrugged.  “Cas seems to think you’re alright, so I shouldn’t have to kill you.  Yet.”  </p><p><br/> After eating, Dean sat down on his bed with his father’s journal, searching for anything his dad might have learned about Nephilim hybrids, or the ‘Abomination’ as Crowley had called her.  You could go out, he thought as he skimmed over a section on djinn he’d read a hundred times before.  You could go to a bar, meet a hot girl; you’ll act like a normal person, like you aren’t currently working with the King of Hell’s underling to stop a plague of human-eating monsters from taking over the Earth.  You’ll smile, crack a dumb joke; you’ll tell her you’re a contractor or something else insanely normal, and she’ll say she’s studying to become a social worker, or she teaches first grade—it’s always something nurturing and benevolent like that—their type must be attracted to shit-stains like you who’re too broken for them to fix, but they’ll still try.  They always try to fix you.</p><p><br/> Though he’d never admitted it to himself, Dean’s outlook on hookups had changed since being in a long-term relationship (when Sam was in Lucifer’s cage, and then running around soulless).  Even though things were clearly done between him and Lisa, a little part of him felt guilty for being with other people—like he was cheating on her—but he couldn’t be cheating on someone he wasn’t still dating.  So what was his freaking problem?  Maybe he missed having that emotional connection with someone, that bond that made sex so much better than a one-night stand.  </p><p><br/> Holy shit, I’ve turned into a woman.  I guess I can do what I always do when Sam’s out—Busty Asian Beauties.  He glanced up at the laptop on the table, then remembered Ash.  She was curled up on top of the covers, like a dog.  Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep.  And even if she had been asleep, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t wake up if he started jerking off; plus, that would be kind of creepy to do with her in the room anyway…</p><p><br/> Ash uncurled herself and sat up.  She had a wicked headache, and now Dean was thinking.  Crowley might have turned the volume down on her telepathy, but she was still aware of all his little frustrated thoughts bouncing off her brain.  Every few bounces, something would slip through her brain waves and stick to her, as if he was mumbling semi-coherently.  </p><p><br/> “You mind if I go for a walk?” she asked.</p><p><br/> “Uh…Now?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I think the cold air will help,” she said, keeping one hand on her head.  </p><p><br/> Dean hesitated.  He and Sam had decided it was okay to leave her on her own from now on, at least on a trial basis, but the whole thing still made him uneasy.  He could really use some time to himself, he thought, looking longingly at the laptop.  </p><p><br/> “Alright, just stay out of trouble.  And be back in…”  He glanced at his watch, “Thirty minutes.”  How much trouble could she get into in thirty minutes?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The cold air didn’t help with the headache, but it did clear away all the crap that had been barraging her.  Ash walked along the side of the road, thankful that there weren’t many people out and about this time of day.  Their hotel was toward the end of a long line of businesses: Fast food, sit-down restaurants, a gym, a grocery store, a dentist’s office specializing in dentures, and a much nicer-looking motel.  She could smell grease, Chinese food, and pizza; underneath that were the smells that only a super-human nose could pick up, like old cigarette butts, leaky motor oil, and a lost shoe.  </p><p><br/> She paused in front of a McDonald’s, looking in at a family eating together.  The mom and dad looked exhausted but happy; the kids were bouncing off their seats, playing with the little toy that came inside the bag, and shrieking, carefully avoiding any actual consumption of food.  Mom was holding a chicken nugget up to a little girl, and Ash held her breath so she could hear her through the glass: “One nugget, and you can go in the Play Place.”</p><p><br/> “One bite,” the girl countered.</p><p><br/> “All of it,” Mom said, sterner this time.</p><p><br/> The kid sighed dramatically and took the nugget, then ran off in the direction of the slides.  Ash started walking again.  She missed having a family.  She missed belonging somewhere.  This was what Sam and Dean were fighting for: They didn’t want planetwide domination, they didn’t want anyone to bow down to them; they just wanted people to continue to live like people should.  She wondered if Crowley would let her stay with them longer, after they killed the leviathans.  She’d have to wait and see what the Prophecy had in store for her, she supposed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean was just about to start worrying about where the girl had disappeared to when she returned.  He was in a much better mood than he had been when she left (having had time to relieve some tension), and to his credit he didn’t even reach for a knife when she came through the door (though he mentally reminded himself which pockets held the demon and silver ones).  </p><p><br/> Ash kicked her shoes off and sat down on her bed, tapping her almost numb toes on the floor to kick some life back into them.  Her hands were very cold, too, as were her ears and nose; the human form really wasn’t designed for extreme temperatures, she decided.</p><p><br/> “How’s your head?”</p><p><br/> “Better.  Thank you.”  She curled up on Sam’s bed, realized something was off, and got under the covers.</p><p><br/>  Dean went back to his father’s journal, once more trying to find something on a Nephilim hybrid.  He’d found “half demon,” which they’d dealt with before, but he had yet to find any information on a cross between a demon and a fallen angel.  </p><p><br/> “Dean?”</p><p><br/> He looked up from a note on demonic possession.  “Yeah?”</p><p><br/> “What’s a wedding?”</p><p><br/> “What?”</p><p><br/> “I didn’t want to say anything, because even Crowley knew what you were talking about, but I’ve never heard of one before.  From the dress he gave me, I gather it’s some kind of party…”</p><p> Dean closed the journal.  “Did he hide you under a rock?”</p><p><br/> “Look, I’ve been around humans much of my life, but as an animal some things just…Go over your head, I guess,” she admitted.</p><p><br/> “A wedding is when two people get married.  There’s a ceremony—the one tomorrow night will be at a church, you won’t see it—and then there’s a big party after, usually dinner and dancing but everyone does it a little differently.”</p><p><br/> Ash thought back to her previous lives.  “One of my families was married, I think.  It’s sort of…It’s like they’re bonded, right?  Like…Like a couple that promises not to break up with each other.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s brain had to take several steps back and take a running leap over his regular train of thought to get to her level.  He was so used to dealing with demons, who had once been human and were often thousands of years old—there didn’t seem to be anything they didn’t know, and they were usually two steps ahead of him.  But Ash hadn’t been made into a demon; she hadn’t even been made into a shapeshifter; she’d lived her whole life under Crowley’s control, only seeing and learning what he wanted her to.  There were obviously some holes in her development, but they were things a hybrid wouldn’t need to know about as far as a demon was concerned.  Weddings and any other traditions rooted in religion were probably at the top of that list.  </p><p><br/> “Yes.  That’s…Basically correct,” he agreed.</p><p><br/> “Why make such a big deal out of it?”</p><p><br/> “Religion.  Well, it started out as religion.  Now there’s legal benefits, like if your wife died suddenly and she didn’t have a will, you’d basically have the right to control her funeral, you’d gain control of her assets…”  He realized he was heading down another road she was likely going to be unable to follow; Crowley probably hadn’t taught her Law 101, though he knew for a fact there were enough lawyers in Hell to get a rat through law school.  “Or if you get divorced, you theoretically get to keep half of everything.  Though normally the woman gets most of it.”  He’d met one too many bitterly divorced hunters to believe the courts were fair.  </p><p><br/> Ash yawned.  “I think I’ve met some divorce lawyers.”</p><p><br/> Dean laughed.  “I bet you have.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> In the morning, Dean got a text from Sam saying he was heading back to the event center for more recon.</p><p> <br/> “I should go with him.  You want to come with, or stay here?”</p><p><br/> Ash raised her eyebrows in surprise.  She wasn’t used to being given a choice.  “I’ll come with you.”</p><p><br/> He nodded, grabbing the leash from Sam’s bag.  “Let’s roll.”</p><p><br/> Ash shifted into the German Shepherd, not daring to question why she was now being allowed in the car as a dog.  Dean even let her ride in Sam’s seat up front, and got her an order of sausage when he stopped at a McDonald’s for coffee and breakfast.  She was feeling overly privileged by the time they met Sam, who was going over the day’s itinerary with Samantha.  He excused himself from the young woman’s company to get Dean up to speed.</p><p><br/> “It’s…”  He checked his phone, “9:30 now.  The wedding party will be here at 11 to start setting up.  Samantha says people will be coming and going all day, but the ceremony’s across town at 4, so everyone should be gone by 3.  Meanwhile, we’ve got seven staff in the kitchen, five servers coming in, and two sort of all-purpose attendants who go everywhere and do everything—they check on the bride and groom in the holding pens upstairs, keep the bathrooms clean, communicate with all the other vendors—they’ll be hard to keep track of.  Sam also e-mailed me a copy of the vendor list—she wasn’t supposed to, but she doesn’t want to disappear tonight, either.”</p><p><br/> Dean pulled up the list on Sam’s phone.  “DJ, florist, cake, photo booth—” he looked up at Sam in confusion, “photo booth?”</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “It’s a thing, apparently.”</p><p><br/> “Sure.  Anyway, the florist should leave before the guests even show up, and I think the baker just drops the cake off, so that leaves the DJ and…I assume someone sticks around to make sure the photo booth doesn’t break down?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, one attendant.  They sort of hover around and make sure people know what they’re doing.”</p><p><br/> “Okay.  So we watch for the DJ and the stupid photo guy.  While we’re here, why don’t you take the dog down to the kitchen and talk to everybody there, and I’ll see if anything weird has popped up in the main hall.”</p><p><br/> Ash sniffed around the kitchen while Sam had a quick chat with the employees.  None of them were demons as far as she could tell, but they could always possess the workers just before the event began, thereby avoiding detection until it was too late.  Dean also came up empty-handed: No hex bags, no symbols (even in glow in the dark paint—he turned the lights on and off to be sure), and no sulfur.  The group retreated to the hotel to rest and wait.  </p><p><br/> “So we’re letting the dog in the car now?” Sam asked as Dean opened the door for Ash.</p><p><br/> Dean glared at his brother.  “Okay, first off, she doesn’t smell like a real dog.  And second, don’t be a dick.”</p><p><br/> Sam chose to ignore the last comment.  “So,” he said as they headed home, “No one died without me last night.  That’s good.”</p><p><br/> “You really think I’d kill her once you left?”</p><p><br/> Sam scowled out the window.  “Well, you killed that kitsune behind my back.”  Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off.  “It’s okay; I know we’ve been over this.  You did the right thing because I couldn’t.  I was just using it as an example of why I thought things might have…Gone south.”</p><p><br/> “If I’m going to start a war with Crowley, I’m not doing it on my own in the middle of the night.  Plus, she’s good at killing leviathans.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Back at the hotel, Ash shifted to human so she could go over everything with the boys.  </p><p><br/> “If they’re smart, they’ll swap vessels at the last minute—show up in some random meat suit, then snag a worker or guest just before they strike.  They must know Crowley’s onto them, and if they know you’ve been poking around, they’ll be extra cautious.  We may only get a few minutes to pick them out of the crowd before they ship everyone to a secondary location.”</p><p><br/> “Awesome,” Dean grumbled.  </p><p><br/> Sam opened the laptop to take another look at the vendors and was immediately bombarded with grunts and moans.  “Dean!” he snapped.  He closed the active browser tab, then the next one.  “The Cunt of Monte Cristo II?  Really?”</p><p><br/> “Shut up, Sam,” Dean hissed.  He’d never been embarrassed by porn before, but somehow having a demonic Nephilim virgin learn about the movies he watched just called for embarrassment.  </p><p><br/> “The acting was much better in the first one,” Ash said casually, “But two was pretty hilarious.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both turned to stare at her.  Dean glanced at his brother nervously.  “Do you think she heard ‘count’ of—” he whispered.</p><p><br/> “I lived with single men before,” Ash cut in.  “As a dog.  Guys that live alone don’t care about things like subtlety or volume controls, and they don’t care if they occasionally accidentally lock their dog in the room with them.  So yeah, I’ve come across some porn.”  She stared at the back of the laptop thoughtfully.  “I’ve also been stuck in a room with actual people having sex, and it was nothing like porn…”</p><p><br/> Dean opened his mouth to respond, realized he didn’t have anything appropriate to say, and ended up with a choked “Ungh.”</p><p><br/> Sam thought back to his non-hunting periods, when he’d had his own dog and eventually a girlfriend.  He must have jerked off and/or had sex in the same room as the dog, because why not?  It’s a dog, it’s not like it understands what’s going on.  Right?  Holy crap, if I jerked off in front of a shapeshifter…</p><p><br/>   “Sammy?  You okay?” Dean asked, finally finding his voice.  </p><p><br/>Sam looked pale and slightly disgusted.  He nodded without looking at his brother, his eyes out of focus.  </p><p><br/> “Hey—you had a dog for a while, right?” the older Winchester recalled.</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed the laptop.  “I should look up those vendors.”</p><p><br/> Dean took the non-answer as a definite ‘yes’ that Sam had, at some point, watched porn with his dog.  He turned back to Ash.  “So, Crowley just sent you to live with people?  That’s kinda weird, right?”</p><p><br/> Ash shrugged.  “I got to learn about humans and stay away from demons.  Most of the people were nice, though there was one who was a little…Odd…”  She shook her head.  “He was normally very good at finding them.  He’d have his demons locate someone that fit whatever criteria he had, and I’d show up at their door, usually with an injury so they’d be more inclined to take me in.”</p><p><br/> “Were any of them hot, at least?”</p><p><br/> She gave him a funny look.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “Were any of them attractive—I don’t know, you must have a type you go for.”</p><p><br/> Ash shrugged.  “I—I wasn’t really paying attention.  I was a dog.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, come on!  I don’t care what shape you are, you know when a guy’s good-looking.  You must have had someone you had the hots for.”</p><p><br/> “It doesn’t matter!” she snapped, eyes flaring with eerie light.  The anger faded from her face, and she looked embarrassed.  She looked down at her hands, using her peripheral vision to keep track of Sam and Dean to make sure they weren’t going to stab or shoot her.  </p><p><br/> Dean’s hand had automatically gone to the hilt of his knife, but he relaxed quickly.  “Guess I struck a nerve.”</p><p><br/> Ash swiveled in her seat, turning slightly away from him.  “There’s no point in being attracted to someone when you’re their dog.”</p><p><br/> “But you could shift—there’s probably a lot of guys out there who would flip if their dog suddenly turned into a naked chick.”</p><p><br/> “In their dreams, sure.  In reality, they’d think they were hallucinating, or that I was something…Demonic,” she finished, realizing as she said it that she was something demonic.  “And anyway, Crowley would’ve killed me if anyone realized I wasn’t just a dog.”</p><p><br/> “So even if you were nowhere near him, he still had you on a tight leash.”</p><p><br/> She narrowed her eyes.  “Dog jokes?  Really?”</p><p><br/> “Just an apt metaphor,” Dean replied.  He looked over Sam’s shoulder at the computer screen.  “Anything interesting?”</p><p><br/> “This guy’s been in business for fifteen years.  Recent reviews are all positive.  Nothing to indicate he’s been possessed.”  Sam clicked to a new tab and searched the photo booth company.  “The booth is part of a national company; they could send any technician.  That would be easy enough for a demon to infiltrate.”</p><p><br/> “So essentially we can’t rule anyone out as a demon, including all 250 guests,” Dean sighed.  “How could we possibly screw this one up?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They arrived back at the event center just as the wedding party was leaving for the church.  The florist had already come and gone, but the bakery was just arriving with the cake, and the DJ and photo booth were both setting up.  The kitchen was in full swing, the staff shouting jokes to each other over the roar of industrial fans and sizzling oil.  It looked like just another work-day, if not for the sudden jump-scares the staff got every time a door slammed or a pot dropped too hard on the counter.  Though they’d been assured the disappearance of their previous coworkers was a one-time fluke, and many of them believed it was a hoax anyway, they were still on edge, circulating whispered rumors of alien abductions or similarly spooky stories.  </p><p><br/> Ash adjusted her dress self-consciously, trying not to lose the fake FBI ID clipped to the inside of the fabric.  Sam had done a bit of a rush job on it and had advised her not to show it to anyone unless she really had to.  Her agent name was Ashley Carter—Sam and Dean would be playing Agents Gaiman and Pratchett.  Sam took Ash to investigate the kitchen staff while Dean went to get a read on the DJ and photo booth attendant.  </p><p><br/> Ash followed Sam back down the hall after their interviews. “Demons are here,” she said quietly.</p><p><br/> Sam stopped abruptly and Ash didn’t, running into him.  “What?  Back there?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “There’s three in the kitchen—the sous chef with the red beanie, that tall girl with the colored bandana, and the guy in the black dishwashing apron.”<br/> Sam grabbed her arm.  “Come on, we need to tell Dean.”  He practically towed her down to the main hall, which was now full of tables, décor, and electronics.  </p><p><br/> Dean broke away from the photo booth attendant, a young brunette in a very short black cocktail dress.  She’d been very flirty, even hinting that they might both grab a drink once the party was over.  </p><p><br/> “Sam?  What’s wrong?”</p><p><br/> He shook his head.  “Demons.  Kitchen.”</p><p><br/> “The chick by that big box,” Ash said, nodding slightly to the photo booth.</p><p> <br/> Dean’s brow furrowed.  “What about her?”</p><p><br/> “She’s a demon.”</p><p><br/> “Damn it,” he hissed.</p><p><br/> Sam gave his brother a questioning look.</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “She’s cute.”</p><p><br/> “Not from where I’m standing,” Ash replied.</p><p><br/> Dean ran a hand over his hairline.  “Okay, you said there are demons working the kitchen?”</p><p><br/> “Three.”</p><p><br/> “And friendly over here makes four.  Crowley said there’d be about fifteen, so where are the other eleven?”</p><p><br/> “Not all the catering staff is here yet,” said Sam.  The servers won’t clock in till 5.”</p><p><br/> “That’s not enough.  Some of them must be using the guests as vessels.”  He glanced back at the brunette again.  “Let’s go upstairs.”</p><p><br/> They retreated to the empty groom’s suite, which had been filled with snacks and alcohol.  Dean helped himself to some whiskey.</p><p><br/> “We need to find a way to draw them away from everyone.  People are gonna flip if we start stabbing demons in a crowded hall.”</p><p><br/> “They’re not going to leave the hall if they can help it,” Ash said.  “For the spell to work, they all have to be in the same room.”</p><p><br/> Sam had found the spell they were likely to use: It involved drawing a massive symbol on the floor and having five people stand at equidistant points to recite the words and activate it.  There was nothing drawn on the floor at the moment, and it seemed unlikely that they’d be able to do so without anyone else noticing, but at such a crowded event it was certainly a possibility.  Having 15 demons on hand would almost guarantee them that the spell would go off without a hitch, even if certain pesky hunters showed up to put a stop to things.  Sam and Dean would have a hard enough time ganking ten demons; surely five could survive to complete the incantation.  </p><p><br/> “We might be able to take out the kitchen staff now,” Sam said.  “Everyone who works in a kitchen takes constant smoke breaks.  We go out back where they all hang out and wait for them to come to us.”</p><p><br/> “Or they all go at the same time, and it’s two of us against three of them.  Ash doesn’t have a weapon.”</p><p><br/> “I am a weapon,” Ash replied.</p><p><br/> “Ah.  Right.  And if they don’t come out…We go to them.”</p><p><br/> “Inside to where all the sharp things are, you mean?” Sam clarified.</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “It would be nice if they came outside.”</p><p><br/> “What about your girlfriend?  Think you can get her alone?” </p><p><br/> He glared at his brother.  “Yeah.  I think I can.”</p><p> </p><p> <br/> Ash crouched in the shadows, feeling more at home in her wolf body.  She watched as two of the demons from the kitchen approached the break area, where Sam and Dean were sitting on top of a picnic table.  The demon in the beanie was carrying a small prep bowl; Ash could smell the blood inside.  </p><p><br/> “Have to come all the way out here to make a phone call?” Dean asked cheerfully.  “Yeah, service out here sucks.”</p><p><br/> The demons stopped in front of them, setting the bowl down carefully on the grass.  “Winchesters.  I heard you were in town, but I didn’t expect you here.  Didn’t take you for the type that would work for Crowley.”</p><p><br/> Sam bristled.  “We don’t work for demons.”</p><p><br/> “That so?  He didn’t tell you we were working for his rival and send you here to kill us?”</p><p><br/> Sam’s glare should have caught the man’s hat on fire.  </p><p><br/> “We’re gonna kill you because you’re demons, and we’re in the demon killing business.  Now, we doing this or not?”</p><p><br/> The demon sighed.  “Have it your way.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean were both flung up and over the back of the table, slamming into the ground.  The dishwasher demon advanced on them as they pulled their knives, while the other knelt by the blood and began speaking Latin.  The dishwasher pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it at the younger brother.  Dean leapt to his feet, but the demon was using his power to keep Sam pinned.  Dean lunged at him and they grappled for control.</p><p><br/> “The Winchesters are here,” the hatted demon told the bowl of blood.  “But the plan is running smoothly.  We’re taking care of them now.”</p><p><br/> Ash heard a demonic voice hiss, One does not simply take care of the Winchesters.  I’m on my way.  Tell the others not to engage, if you live that long.</p><p><br/> The call ended, and the demon rose to help his brother.  The dishwasher demon was so focused on Dean that he lost his hold on Sam, who scrambled to his feet to deal with the newcomer.  Dean managed to knock the gun out of his demon’s grip, sending it skidding under the picnic table; the demon retaliated by punching him on the chin, sending him flying backwards.  Sam’s demon produced a long and thin knife, probably used for deboning fish, and began slashing at him wildly.  </p><p><br/> “Sorry I’m late, that blonde bitch would not shut up about the green beans…”  The third kitchen demon trailed off as she took in the scene in front of her.  She charged forward, ready to throw the Winchesters into the next county.  “Amateurs.  Here, let me—”</p><p><br/> Ash barreled into her, striking her in the chest and knocking her off her feet.  She bit anything she could reach, which wasn’t much, until the demon regained her composure and threw her off.  The wolf slammed into the side of the building and flopped onto the dirt while the demon stood and healed itself.  </p><p><br/> The distraction of the third demon was enough for Sam to get the upper hand, driving the demon blade into the chest of the beanie demon.  Outraged at the loss, Dean’s demon threw him away and turned to attack Sam.  Sam spun with the knife; the demon dodged easily and slammed into Sam with his shoulder, throwing him off balance.  He grabbed him by the throat; at the same time, the female demon ran at Dean, kicking the angel blade away from him before kicking him in the head.  </p><p><br/> Ash healed herself and got back on her paws, taking in the melee in front of her.  She needed more firepower; focusing on the change, she shifted into a black dragon.  Her wings flexed and stretched behind her; her tail snaked back and forth as the muscles in her back legs coiled, preparing to strike.  She sprang forward, grabbing Sam’s demon by his head.  She rolled her landing, forcing the demon’s vessel into a backflip that no human would have recovered from.  The demon struggled against her even as her teeth broke through its neck; that wasn’t fatal, but it was enough of a chance for Sam to stab him.  </p><p><br/> Sam turned to help Dean with the final demon.  It had Dean by his neck, his feet dangling inches from the ground.  Sam threw his knife at her, and she stopped it with her power; as she turned to the knife, Dean landed a solid kick to one of her kneecaps, and she yelled in anger as she stumbled back on her one good leg.  She dropped Dean as Sam ran for the angel blade, tossing it to his brother.  She threw her hand out, stopping Sam, but it was too late: Dean had the knife through her ribs before she could refocus on him.  </p><p><br/> Ash used her larger size to help move the bodies, then retrieved her dress and turned back into a human while the boys washed the blood off their faces and suits.  She waited in the main hall while Dean convinced the flirty brunette to step outside with him, where Sam was waiting to help take her down.  When they returned, she mentioned the demon’s call.</p><p>“Must be the guy in charge,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “Damien,” Ash supplied.</p><p><br/> Sam dabbed at a spot of blood on his suit.  “While I’m flattered that he thinks we’re too much for his underlings, I’m kind of offended that he’s not sending more people after us.”</p><p><br/> “He may not have enough followers to do that,” Ash said.  “Most of Hell is still loyal to Crowley.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, well we’ll be sure to kill him when he gets here,” Dean said.  “Come on, let’s wait in the office until everyone arrives.  There’s a window—Ash should be able to spot the demons from there.”</p><p> </p><p> Keeping tabs on eleven demons, out of about 250 humans, was harder than they expected.  “White man with black hair in a black suit, no tie” was infuriatingly common, as was “white man with brown hair in a blue suit, no tie.”  The women were slightly easier to tell apart, but each of them walked in wearing a coat, which they promptly took off upon entering.  </p><p><br/> “Okay, new plan: You’re going to signal when there’s a demon.  If you’re standing in front of one, touch your hair.  If Sam has one, uh…Scratch your nose.  And if I have one…Hang on, I’ll think of it.  It has to be something we can see from across the room.”</p><p><br/> “She could touch a necklace.”</p><p><br/> “Perfect.  Where do we get one of those?”</p><p><br/> Sam gestured to the pendant around Dean’s neck.  Dean grabbed it protectively.  </p><p><br/> “This does not leave my neck.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed.  “I’ll see if Samantha can help us out.”</p><p> </p><p> He returned in a few minutes with a silver heart-shaped pendant on a thin metal chain.  “Just remember it’s there if you shift,” he warned.  He looped it around her neck, fastening the clasp in the back.</p><p><br/> She hissed as the metal touched her neck, creating a thick red burn everywhere the necklace touched.  Pain radiated around her neck and chest, like someone was very, very slowly trying to saw her head off.  </p><p><br/> “What’s wrong?” </p><p><br/> “Silver alloy,” Ash said through gritted teeth, trying not to just drop to her knees.  She leaned forward just enough to let gravity take the pendant away from her skin.  “It’s okay, I just need a second to get used to it.”</p><p><br/> “I’m sorry,” Sam said, “I wasn’t thinking…It was all she had…”</p><p><br/> Ash stood up straight and shook herself off.  “I’m fine.  Let’s kill some demons.”  The necklace wasn’t nearly as thick as the boys’ handcuffs, nor did it have the same amount of silver; it was really the location that made it so uncomfortable.  And it wasn’t like Crowley hadn’t made her deal with worse things.</p><p><br/> They entered cocktail hour with the rest of the guests, staying spread out but within eyeshot of each other.  This proved to be difficult, as Ash was much shorter than the Winchesters: It didn’t take long for Dean to lose sight of her, though he still had eyes on Sam.  It also didn’t take long for Dean to locate more booze.</p><p><br/> It took Ash a while to locate a demon in the crowd.  She made her way to him slowly, having to weave through a mass of overly excited and emotional party guests.  She didn’t have much experience with small talk, but she managed to engage him in a quick conversation by telling him he looked exactly like someone she knew, and did he ever live in northern Massachusetts?  He hadn’t, but he’d dated a girl from Cape Cod, which he started to get overly emotional about.  Ash quickly excused herself, saying she needed to locate her boyfriend.  This was a demon, and he was practically crying.  She knew they could still emote realistically, but he didn’t look like he was acting.  He seemed to be truly grieving over the loss of his relationship.  </p><p><br/> With one demon flagged (she hoped Sam and Dean had seen her twirl her hair, at least—she didn’t want to talk to that one again), she went in search of another.  She spotted Dean talking to three girls who looked like sisters, but they were all normal.  Sam had found a beer and was listening to a middle-aged man talk about the bad winters they got in the area.  Behind him, a younger man with a buzz cut and a demon face had just recognized Sam as a hunter.  Ash caught his eye and scratched her nose, then ran her hand across the back of her neck and gestured behind her.  Sam tossed his head slightly to indicate the demon, and she nodded.  Two found, but how do we kill them without the whole place erupting in chaos?  </p><p><br/> Dean stumbled across three more demons, and Sam found four.  They regrouped at a raised cocktail table and Ash described two more to them that none of them had been able to get close to, but she’d seen from across the room.  </p><p><br/> “That’s fifteen, if you include the four we took care of already.  If Crowley’s right, that’s all of them.”</p><p><br/> “Except for Damien,” Ash reminded them.</p><p><br/> “Right.  Great.  So how do we separate the people from the demons now that we know who’s who?” Sam asked.  </p><p><br/> “I’m pretty sure they recognize you guys, too.  You’re not taking anyone by surprise.”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed.  “We pull the fire alarm?  Just start stabbing, and hope people run instead of stop us?”</p><p><br/> The background music changed as the DJ got on the microphone.  “Ladies and gentlemen, here for the very first time as husband and wife, John and Mackenzie Lannister!”</p><p><br/> Cheers erupted as the bride and groom entered, and upbeat music began to play.  </p><p><br/> “Everyone’s here now,” Sam said.  “They won’t wait much—”</p><p><br/> He stopped talking as the room was suddenly cast into darkness.  The crowd gasped collectively as the lights went out; then the room was bathed in a deep purple glow as blacklights illuminated the space.  The bride’s white dress glowed brightly, as did all the men’s button-down shirts.  But the really impressive bit was the floor, which was covered in various symbols, including a giant pentagram in a circle.  </p><p><br/> “Oh crap,” Dean observed.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> People screamed.  Children cried.  The DJ attempted to use the mike, but the demons had killed the sound system.  Ash could see them congregating along the edges of the room, along the outside line of the circle.  The doors were all sealed shut.  She looked to Sam and Dean.</p><p><br/> “Stop them.  Whatever you have to do,” Dean said as the demons began to recite the spell.</p><p><br/> Ash went to shift, realized the necklace was stopping her, and tore it off, snapping the chain.  Her hand burned from pulling the chain, but shifting fixed that.  She shifted into a small owl, rising above the crowd to target the first demon she could reach.  Sam and Dean were already heading away from her, plowing through the panicked crowd to reach their targets.  Ash dive-bombed a demon: It looked up just as she was about to strike it, and she flared her wings out, raking its upturned eyes with her talons.  It screeched in pain, flailing at her with its hands.  It finally managed to get a hand around her stubby little leg; she countered by shifting into a snake, wrapping around his arm and biting down hard.  Another demon came to his rescue, so she leapt off the first and sunk her fangs into the second.  As soon as she felt her teeth hit bone, she shifted again, this time into a wolf: The unexpected weight forced the demon to the floor.  She released her jaws from his arm and went for his throat, pinning his chest with her front paws.  She felt a sharp pain in her side as he stabbed her, but it was just an ordinary knife—it would heal.  So would his throat, once she’d ripped half of it out, though it would take him a while to start reciting the ritual again.  </p><p><br/> She moved as quickly as she could, jumping over and sometimes onto humans to reach the next demon.  Judging by the noise on the other end of the hall, Sam and Dean had their hands full; she knew she couldn’t kill the other demons, or even keep them down for long, but at least she could stop them from completing the ritual until the boys reached them.  </p><p><br/> Ash looked up from mauling a little girl demon as an eerie shriek filled the air: One of the demons Sam had gone after had vacated its vessel, and was now a black cloud winding through the hall, searching for a new host.  It spotted her and ran straight toward her.  She growled, baring her teeth at it, and started to change shape—but it poured into her mouth, taking her over before she could complete the shift.  </p><p><br/> She felt it possess her, and she became like a ragdoll, nothing more than a skin for it to control.  It could see her thoughts, everything she’d ever done, and use them all against her.  </p><p><br/> Step aside, kid.  I call the shots now, it hissed.  It focused her eyes on Sam, and forced her legs to run toward him.  We’ll be the demon who finally killed the Winchesters.  What a promotion that’ll be!  It probed her mind experimentally.  No way, you’re Crowley’s pet!  I bet we can kill him, too!  </p><p><br/> Ash’s legs stopped mid-lope and she crashed to the floor, her legs skewed in ways they shouldn’t be.  You’ll be dead before you get near him.  </p><p><br/> You give him far too much credit, pet, the demon sighed in her head.  I didn’t think anyone could be this devoted to anything, let alone a demon.  Especially a demon—especially Crowley.  </p><p><br/> Ash stood up, shaking herself off.  The demon turned her head to face Sam again, and Ash deliberately fell down.  </p><p><br/> Worm, the demon snarled, You are not in charge here.  She stood again.  The demon spoke in her head, but now its tone was more quiet, almost sad: I was devoted to someone once.  There was a girl, Emily.  I sold my soul to keep her safe, and how did she repay me?  She slept with my brother.  My fucking brother!</p><p><br/> Ash took a step back, feeling like all of her internal organs were being squeezed at once.  She choked, unable to catch her breath, and collapsed onto her side.  She could see Sam running toward her now, having just extinguished another adversary.  Her muscles spasmed and she felt her head smack against the floor.  She was insanely hot, like her blood had literally boiled: There was a flash of white light in front of her eyes, and then her world went black.</p><p> </p><p> She came to when someone kicked her in the head.  Her eyes opened and slowly came into focus: There was a large demon standing over her, one she hadn’t seen yet.  Seeing that she was awake, he used his power to lift her into the air—she struggled to break free of his hold, but remained suspended feet above the floor.  Sam and Dean were on opposite ends of the hall, each in a deadlock with another demon.  The humans had hidden under the tables or were huddled along the walls, trying to avoid the demons’ destruction.  It looked as though all the other demons were dead, and just the two original and this new one remained.</p><p><br/> “Ah, Crowley’s pet,” the new demon purred.  “He’s kept you secret for so long, I was beginning to think you didn’t actually exist.  I have to say, you don’t look all that impressive.  I wonder what he sees in you?”</p><p><br/> Ash felt the back of her head tingle as the demon dug into her mind.  She could see each memory he pulled up, but there was something else—she could see part of him, too.  </p><p><br/> So you’re Damien.  </p><p><br/> “He told you about me.”</p><p><br/> He said you were stealing souls to get stronger, that you wanted to be the new king.  She latched onto a thought of his that went floating by.  You used to be in a band.</p><p><br/> She dropped suddenly, stopping a foot above the floor.  Damien looked perplexed.  “How did you…You shouldn’t be able to—”</p><p><br/> You played electric bass in a band called…Gingivitis?</p><p><br/> “We were all dentists,” he snapped.  “It was funny.”  Ash realized she was slowly dropping to the ground, his hold on her weakening.  “Steve played guitar.  Tony sang.  Bruce was on drums.  Our kids were so embarrassed, but we had fun—it was back in the 70’s, I was almost 40.  I thought we could make it big, we just needed a little boost…So I sold my soul for ten years of musical success.”  He laughed bitterly.  “Too bad Steve got cancer in two.  Ran in his family.  The others couldn’t take it when he got sick, they went back to dentistry.  I tried to make it on my own, but it wasn’t any fun without the guys there with me…”  Ash felt his hold on her vanish.  He put his hands over his face.  “I lost my soul…I killed countless people…All for two fucking years on stage…”</p><p><br/> Ash changed into a lightning dragon, shooting electricity into him.  He staggered back, healing himself quickly; she zapped him again, then lunged forward, snapping her jaws around his torso and biting down as hard as she could.  He produced a small knife and stabbed her just above her nose: She screeched in pain and dropped him, feeling the intense shooting pain that came from silver.  He collapsed on the floor and started crying, still slashing wildly with the knife.  </p><p><br/> “What did you do to me?” he screamed.  “What did you do?”  </p><p><br/> Ash stepped back, trying to clear her vision as her eyes teared up from the silver cut.  Sam’s demon broke free from him and came rushing to his master’s aide, while Dean managed to finish off his own demon.  Ash turned to Sam’s demon, who was rushing at her with a long bloody dagger.  She zapped him, stunning him for just a moment, which was enough for Sam to catch up.  Ash jumped back to avoid the knife and spun around, knocking the demon off his feet with her tail.  Sam was able to dart forward and stab him, while Ash turned to Damien again, trying to find a bit that wasn’t currently protected by his mad flailing of the silver knife.  She snarled and snapped, keeping his attention locked on her so that Dean could stab him from behind.  </p><p><br/> Sam rejoined his brother; they were both breathing hard and covered in blood.</p><p><br/> “Time to downsize, kid,” Dean said to Ash.</p><p><br/> She shifted into a German Shepherd, still feeling the sting from the silver cut on her muzzle.  </p><p><br/> “Go upstairs and wait in the holding pen.  We’ll get this cleaned up—don’t go anywhere until we come and get you, is that clear?”</p><p><br/> Ash whimpered in protest.</p><p><br/> “I know you can help, but you’re just going to scare them.  Go upstairs.”</p><p><br/> She nudged the door open with her head: Now that the demons were dead, it opened easily.  She made her way up the stairs and into the groom’s suite, collapsing on a couch and quickly passing out.  </p><p><br/> She woke up to Sam and Dean talking nearby.</p><p><br/> “We don’t know that’s what happened.  What if she’s still possessed?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “Well we can’t use the knife—that hurts her either way, it won’t tell us anything.” Dean replied.</p><p><br/> “What about holy water?  Have you tried that?”</p><p><br/> “I’m all out.”</p><p><br/> “Me too.  We could try an exorcism.”</p><p><br/> “I guess that’s our best shot.  You want to?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, alright.”  Ash felt Sam push her shoulder gently.  “Ash?  You gotta wake up.”</p><p><br/> She opened her eyes and raised her head slightly, feeling like she’d been in a hit and run.  Whatever weird voodoo shit her body had done to those demons, she was paying for it now.  </p><p><br/> “We saw that demon possess you, and then…Something happened, but we don’t understand what.  It looked like it died while it was in you, but we need to make sure it’s not still controlling you.  Since you’re reactive to the demon blade, we’re going to try an exorcism.”</p><p><br/> The fur along the back of her neck went up.</p><p><br/> “It can’t hurt you; I promise.  Just stay still.”</p><p><br/> She glanced behind him to see Dean holding the angel blade at his side, just in case.  Sam recited the exorcism, and the boys visibly relaxed when nothing happened.  </p><p><br/> “That still doesn’t explain what happened,” Dean said.  “How did it die?”</p><p><br/> Ash went to shift into her human form: Her fur stood on end over her entire body, and she fell off the couch, still a dog.  She yelped in surprise as she hit the floor.<br/> “What the hell?”</p><p><br/> Well I’d tell you the problem, but you can’t freaking understand me, she thought bitterly.</p><p><br/> “She’s not possessed, at least,” Sam said.  “We should call Cas though.”</p><p><br/> Dean rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck, fidgeting to avoid the awkwardness he still felt when contacting the angel.  “Uh…Cas, we could really use your advice right now.  We’ve got a sort of…Weird…Demon thing going on, and we’re hoping you can shed some light on—”</p><p><br/> He spun at the sound of fluttering wings: Castiel stood behind him.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, Dean.  Sam.”  Castiel’s gaze settled on the dog.  “Ash.  You’ve…Changed.”  </p><p><br/> “Crowley said that whatever you did activated something in her,” Dean said, “and now she’s started doing all this weird shit—and I mean weird to us,” Dean said.  “A demon died seconds after possessing her.  When she attacked the other demons, they’d start screaming and crying, like they were human souls being tortured.  How is that possible?”</p><p><br/> Castiel stared at the dog, and again she could feel him looking inside her soul.  She wanted to disappear, but there was nowhere to run that he couldn’t follow her.  He crouched down on the floor in front of her and brought his hand up to her; she pressed herself back into the couch, ears down and fur standing on end.</p><p><br/> “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, and the words felt like a warm, soothing light.  She relaxed, and he placed his hand on her forehead.  Her body flooded with warmth and energy.  Castiel stood.  “You should be able to shift now.”</p><p><br/> Ash stood up and shook herself off, feeling much better.  She hopped down from the couch, grabbed her dress in her mouth, and went to shift and dress behind a partition.  A few moments later, she reappeared, noting that Sam and Dean each had one hand behind them, as if they were trying to be discreet about killing her.  She sat back down on the couch, her focus shifting from one brother to the other; they remained standing.  Just hold the damn knives in front of you, she wanted to shout.  Don’t pretend you wouldn’t stab me as soon as look at me.</p><p><br/> “It’s alright,” Castiel said to the boys.  “She’s not a threat, not now.  Please, sit down.”</p><p><br/> Reluctantly, the Winchesters sheathed their blades and sat down across from the shifter.  Castiel sat down on the opposite end of Ash’s couch.</p><p><br/> “It appears that when I looked inside her mind, I did accidentally open a metaphorical door that Crowley had shut when she was just an infant.  Crowley had planned to open the door when he needed it opened, but I am afraid there is no way to shut it now.  She’s going to grow more powerful, and that will make her more of a target for…Well, for everyone.  She is warded, but angels and demons alike will be drawn to her power.  And once they discover what she is…”  He shrugged.  “They may never stop hunting her.”<br/> “So how was she able to kill a demon while it was possessing her?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “She is…Toxic to them, I believe.”  The angel gave her a questioning look.</p><p><br/> “I make them feel human,” Ash said.  “When they’re near me, they remember who they were as humans, and they feel things they only felt as humans.”</p><p><br/> Castiel nodded.  “Evidently, possessing you overwhelms them completely and they self-destruct.”</p><p><br/> Dean frowned.  “What about Crowley?  He doesn’t seem to mind being around her.”</p><p><br/> “Crowley has had a long time to adjust to her.  He’s also been addicted to human blood; he has a high tolerance.  As the king of hell, he also has the strength of billions of souls—he may not even feel the effect you have.”  He looked at her thoughtfully.  “Or maybe he does.  Anyway.  You won’t be able to hide what you are anymore.  Your power is growing, and you must learn to control it.”</p><p><br/> “What do we do with her?” Dean asked, leaning forward.</p><p><br/> “Keep her away from angels, for a start.  If they get their hands on her, they’ll try to use her to destroy Hell—no, not close it, like you wanted to do, but destroy it—which will, in turn, destroy humanity.”</p><p><br/> “I’m not following.”</p><p><br/> Castiel sighed.  “God gave you free will: the ability to chose to do what is right or what is wrong.  Heaven is supposed to influence you to do the right thing; hell, the wrong.  Get rid of hell, and you’d think you’re left with a peaceful planet, right?  And you’d be correct from a literal standpoint.  There would be no more war, no more fighting.  The trouble is, it wouldn’t really be free will anymore.  It would just be a bunch of angels, telling you to do what they think you should be doing.”</p><p><br/> “And angels are a bunch of dickheads,” Dean added.  “So we’d be, like…Mindless zombies, carrying out heaven’s orders?”</p><p><br/> Castiel nodded.  “All the things that make humans so unique, so special, wouldn’t exist anymore.  There has to be a balance of bad and good—although, yes, heaven hasn’t exactly been a paragon of ‘good’ as of late.  You need…I believe your government has a word for it…Checks and balances.  And without hell, there won’t be any balance.”</p><p><br/> “Right.  So no destroying hell.  And I assume that goes the same for Heaven?”</p><p><br/> He nodded again.  “In truth, though, she wasn’t created to destroy either.  Her purpose is spoken of in one prophecy, and it’s one Lucifer knows: She will aide him in recreating the world to his own liking.”</p><p><br/> “Lucifer?!” Dean snapped.  “Hang on, you said she wasn’t a threat to us!  And she’s supposed to help Lucifer destroy the world?!”</p><p><br/> Ash bristled as Dean reached for his knife; Castiel held a hand up for him to stop.  </p><p><br/> “There is a second piece to the prophecy, one that Lucifer does not believe will come to pass.  It says that she will destroy him.”</p><p><br/> “Is that before or after she destroys the world?”</p><p><br/> The angel hesitated.  “…It seems to be an ‘alternate ending.’  Either she destroys the world for Lucifer, or she destroys him.  If he is freed again, Lucifer will be able to cause significant damage on his own; Ash may be our best shot at defeating him.”</p><p><br/> “…Or everyone dies.”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “There’s always a risk.”</p><p><br/> “And what does Crowley want with her?  He can’t possibly be on Lucifer’s side.”</p><p><br/> “Of course not!  Crowley hates Lucifer more than anything.  He created Ash specifically as an insurance policy against him.”</p><p><br/> Dean choked on a swig of whiskey.  “Created her?  As in…He’s her father?”</p><p><br/> Sam choked on air.  “Were you planning on mentioning this, ever?”</p><p><br/> Ash hunched her shoulders.  “He’s not…I mean, technically, yes, but I don’t call him—I’m not allowed to call him—Look, he’s a demon, not a—That word.”</p><p><br/> “Father,” Sam said, and Ash winced.  “Alright, I get it: Demons don’t exactly have a paternal instinct.”</p><p><br/> “He couldn’t stand having me around,” Ash said quietly, “Because of the—the human thing.  Feeling things.  Doesn’t go over well when you’re the king of the crossroads.  Or the King of Hell.  So he sent me to stay with humans.  I really don’t see him much.”  She gave the boys a pleading look.  “Look, you might think it’s an important distinction, but please don’t call him my…A…Parent…He really doesn’t like that.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean nodded, mystified.  They knew Crowley had a son when he was human, but a daughter as a demon?  And wait—who was this ‘fallen angel’ he slept with?<br/> “What about your mom?  Is she—”</p><p><br/> “Dead,” Ash replied quickly.  “And no, I don’t know anything about her.”</p><p><br/> Castiel cleared his throat, drawing their attention.  “I’ve spoken with Crowley regarding the prophecy and agreed to help him.  I will work with Ash as her powers develop, to ensure she stays on the correct path.”</p><p><br/> The color that had been in Ash’s face faded.  She had no previous experience with angels, but Crowley warned her they were extremely powerful and dangerous.  And now one was going to train her?  Training, in her eyes, was nothing more than torture with a purpose.  </p><p><br/> “You’re working with Crowley,” Dean said slowly, approaching the angel.  “Because we all know how well that went last time.”</p><p><br/> Castiel stood up with an exasperated sigh.  “I know how this must look to you, but believe me, it’s better this way.  Crowley will not be able to handle her on his own.  I can keep an eye on her, make sure she’s progressing appropriately.  Destroying Lucifer, knocking him off the board for good, could solve a lot of problems with Hell and Heaven.”</p><p><br/> “Or she’ll destroy the world.  That was option B, wasn’t it?” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “I won’t let that happen,” Cas replied.  </p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both filed that under ‘if you say it won’t happen it will definitely happen,’ but it was something to fight about another time.  </p><p><br/> “What about all the people downstairs?” Sam asked.  “They just saw a dragon fighting demons; is that going to be a problem as far as drawing things to her to capture and/or kill her?”</p><p><br/> Castiel tilted his head, considering his options.  “I will take care of it.”</p><p><br/> Sam sat up straighter.  “You’re going to—”</p><p><br/> “No, I’m not going to kill them,” Cas snapped.  “I’m going to alter their memories.  They’ll be fine.”  Before they could ask any more questions, he vanished.</p><p><br/> Moments later there was a soft knock on the door, and Samantha’s familiar voice followed: “Hello?  Are you guys up here?”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean drew their knives, holding them behind their backs.  Sam opened the door cautiously, and Samantha entered.  </p><p><br/> “I, um, just wanted to…Thank you for earlier.  You saved all those people—my coworkers, our guests, my job—and I really can’t thank you enough.”</p><p><br/>Dean gave his brother a Look that said, Did Cas not ‘fix’ her memory yet?  Sam shrugged back helplessly.  </p><p><br/>Samantha tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  “So, um, we’re working on getting the tables set back up, and the kitchen crew has everything ready.  Some of the guests are a little freaked out and are going to head home, but most people are going to stay for dinner and dancing.  The bride and groom asked me to invite you to join them, as…As a thank you for them still being alive, you know?  I know that’s a weird thing to ask a couple of FBI agents, but I figured I might as well put it out there.”    <br/>She seemed to notice Ash for the first time, and her eyes widened in alarm.  Ash tensed, preparing to make herself scarce; but Samantha’s expression softened, like she was trying to remember something important.  Eventually she smiled.  “You’re all welcome.”  She glanced at Dean, then back at Sam, as her brain officially filed Ash under ‘non-threat.’  “It’s open bar.”  She squeezed Sam’s arm, then glanced back at Ash like she’d remembered something; she stared at her blankly for a moment, then decided it was nothing, and walked away.   </p><p><br/> Dean perked up once she’d left.  “I guess whatever Cas did worked.  Let’s go get some free booze.”  </p><p><br/> “We’re covered in blood.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, but they know why.  Or…They think they do.  They know they were attacked, and we saved them; that’s the important thing.  Come on; that beer’s not going to drink itself.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed, giving in.  “Okay.  What do we do with Ash?”</p><p><br/> “You heard Cas—apparently everything’s fine, until she gets even more overpowered and kills us all.”  Dean turned to the shifter, who was still sitting on the couch.  She bore the slightly bored and annoyed expression of someone who was being spoken about yet completely ignored.  “You good?”</p><p><br/> She nodded and got to her feet, feeling her legs wobble under her weight.  “Fine.”  She took a step and felt her quad muscles give out; she pitched forward, falling to her knees.  “Ow!  Sorry, I guess killing that demon took a lot more out of me than I thought.”</p><p><br/> Dean gave her his hand to help her up.  </p><p><br/> “Thanks,” she said, letting go of his hand and brushing off her dress.  She knew he was watching her as she tried to take another step, but her legs were still shaking.  <br/> Dean sighed, but he didn’t sound upset so much as amused.  “Okay, that’s not going to work.  Here.”  He held his arm out for her.  </p><p><br/> She balked at the gesture.  “I can stay here, I don’t mind—”</p><p><br/> “Come on,” he said, not backing down.  “We’ll get you some mediocre wedding food and some water, you’ll bounce right back.”  He grabbed her hand and placed it just above the crook of his elbow, adjusting his balance as she transferred some of her weight onto him.  </p><p><br/> Ash gave in.  She was no good at going against orders, though she dreaded walking into a room full of humans or may or may not remember her doing very inhuman things.  Historically, that sort of thing had a tendency to lead to screaming and fire and pitchforks, but the Winchesters seemed to be anticipating a perfectly calm and friendly dinner party.  It was all the more intimidating now that she could barely walk, let alone defend herself, and she had to wonder if Sam and Dean would actually come to her defense if things went south.  Dean, for one, was fairly convinced that she was destined to destroy the world.</p><p><br/> Dean nodded for Sam to go ahead of them, and they slowly made their way down the stairs to the ballroom.  Most of the tables had been righted, and all the demons’ vessels had been removed.  A few tablecloths had caught fire from knocked over candles, and the smell of burnt polyester mixed with various food smells from the buffet.  Shell-shocked guests were helping themselves to food, their voices echoing in the unnaturally quiet hall.  </p><p><br/> Samantha reappeared, smiling at Sam.  “The DJ’s almost got the sound system up and running again.  Then it won’t be so awkwardly quiet in here.  Help yourselves to the food—it’s actually really good, or at least it normally is—some of our cooks are…Gone…So keep an open mind.  Can I grab your drinks for you?  I don’t really have anything else to do until it’s time to close up for the night.”</p><p><br/> Sam requested beers for himself and Dean, and water for Ash.  Dean deposited Ash in a seat and instructed her to stay put until they got back.</p><p><br/> “I can handle—”</p><p><br/> “Stay,” snapped Dean, and Ash deflated.  </p><p><br/> She looked around the room nervously; every now and then, someone would look at her and their eyes would widen, or they would nudge the person next to them and whisper, but then their expressions would go blank, and they’d lose interest.  She tried to fold her legs up underneath her, but the cocktail dress wasn’t going to let that happen with any sort of dignity, so she resigned herself to sitting in a chair like a normal human being.  It felt stiff and awkward, even a little vulnerable.  It would be so easy to sneak up behind someone in this position and attack them, and so difficult for them to move effectively to defend themselves…</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean returned with food for all three of them, and Samantha returned with their drinks.  She opened her mouth to speak, and jumped as the sound system kicked on, shattering the eerie calm with the Beatles’ 8 Days a Week.  She composed herself quickly, looking far calmer than Sam and Dean felt after the sudden change in volume.  <br/> “Christ, that startled me!  I have to go fill out an incident report, though honestly I don’t see the point, it’s not like our insurance is going to cover any of this.  Stop by my office if you leave before I get it done.”</p><p><br/> Sam watched her walk away.</p><p><br/> “So, I take it I’ll have the place to myself again tonight?” Dean said, a mischievous smile on his face.  </p><p><br/> Sam stared pointedly at his plate.  “What?  No.  I’m sure she’s ready to be as far away from me as possible after what she’s been through today.”</p><p><br/> “That’s not how it looks from where I’m sitting.  She can hardly stay away from you.”</p><p><br/> Sam glared at his brother before taking a drink.  “Anyway, if I did see her again, you’d still have to watch Ash.”</p><p><br/> Ash narrowed her eyes.  “I can watch myself.”</p><p><br/> “You can’t even walk straight,” Dean admonished her.  “You’re not going anywhere by yourself until you can fight off an angel.  Those pricks are just as bad as demons—hell, some of them are worse.”</p><p><br/> Ash smiled.  “Huh.  Crowley says the same thing.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s eyes narrowed.  He didn’t like being on the same wavelength as the demon about anything—it either made Crowley seem more human, or Dean seem less human, and neither thought seemed particularly pleasant.  </p><p><br/> They finished their questionably prepared food and Sam went to acquire more alcohol, returning with two shot glasses and a half-full bottle of whiskey.</p><p><br/> “They’ve sort of given up on rules,” he explained.  “I doubt any of them will be working here after tonight, anyway.  Having demons attack your coworkers is the fastest way to get you to fire up the ol’ resume.”  He made a face.  “Even if they don’t remember them as demons.”</p><p><br/> “I’m telling you, it’s those puppy dog eyes.  Women can’t resist.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes, unconvinced that he had the magical ability to melt the hearts of all females with a single look.  He poured their first shots of whiskey, then a second round when the first were quickly downed.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Dean, who wouldn’t even consider himself sober until he’d had a full flask of what smelled like rubbing alcohol.  After the third shot, Sam was feeling pleasantly buzzed, so he didn’t mind at all when Samantha reappeared beside him and asked him if he’d like to dance.  He hadn’t danced with anyone since freshman year at Stanford, when he’d attended his first and only college dance.  </p><p><br/> Dean saw his brother hesitate and shoved a fourth whiskey into his hand.  Sammy never got to do anything fun, and he certainly never got to make a fool out of himself, but tonight Dean was convinced he could get him to do both.  Sam took the shot and followed Samantha onto the dance floor, where a growing crowd had gathered to celebrate and forget that demons (or rather, perfectly ordinary humans) had just tried to kill them all.</p><p><br/> They really are resilient, Ash thought as she watched them.  Crowley was right: There are some things about humanity he could never teach me.  How could a demon explain dancing the Macarena—everyone looks absolutely ridiculous, but they do it together and they’re having fun.  That’s one thing demons can’t do right, is fun.  They’ll say it’s fun to torture people, but what they mean is they take pleasure in someone else’s pain.  She could feel the energy from the people on the dance floor, and it wasn’t the usual fear and hurt she was used to sensing.  This was real joy.  Despite death, despite their close brush with mortality, these people were here to celebrate a wedding, and they’d be damned if they didn’t do just that.  She could feel the love they felt for each other: The bride and groom, other married couples, parents and their children, friends and distant relatives; it was all a slightly different version of the same thing.  Love was warm and inviting, like the sun.  It felt good, but it also felt terrible—she could see why it made the demons go insane.  When they felt human emotion, they must have felt love for the first time since their souls were destroyed, and they would be overwhelmed by the desire to love, and be loved in return…But how could a demon, with all its sins and transgressions, be loved?  Who could love a monster?  </p><p><br/> “Ash.  Ash!”  </p><p><br/> She snapped to attention as Dean nudged her shoulder, realizing she’d been staring at nothing.  </p><p><br/> “You okay?  You looked like you were going to pass out again.”  He had to lean in a little too close to her in order to be heard over the music.</p><p><br/> “Huh?  Oh.  No, I’m…Fine,” she said, shaking herself off.  “Just thinking.”</p><p><br/> Dean pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.  “Oh, it’s never good when a woman says that,” he groaned.   He lowered his hand.  “Thinking about what?”</p><p><br/> Her eyes narrowed.  “My evil plan to help Lucifer destroy the world.  Weren’t you paying attention?”</p><p><br/> He tried his best to look stern, like when Sam was clearly withholding information from him and he had to practically beat it out of him.  “Ash,” he said, a clear warning in his voice.</p><p><br/> She sighed.  “You are the most paranoid non-demon I’ve ever met.  I was just…I don’t know…Feeling all the energy from everyone.  It’s the first time I’ve been around this many humans and they weren’t all in immediate danger of dying; they’re kind of…Happy.  It’s different, that’s all.”</p><p><br/> “Huh.”  Come to think of it, it had been years since Dean had been in a crowd of people that weren’t in immediate danger as well.  It was a strange, even alien experience, to be surrounded by people who weren’t screaming and pleading for their lives.  He turned to watch Sam dancing, grinning like an idiot and looking like one too, and he felt…Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly the warm fuzzies, but he felt good.  His whole life, he’d fought to keep him safe, but he’d rarely managed to make him happy.  Sam was a great hunter, but Dean knew that what he really wanted was a normal life, and though it was just for a few hours, he could have that tonight.  He could be just another goofy drunk guy at a wedding, hold the demonic possession.  If something went wrong tonight, like, for example, Ash going crazy and trying to destroy the universe, Dean could handle it himself.  </p><p><br/> He glanced back at Ash, and knew she wasn’t going to give him any trouble right now, other than possibly passing out again.  She was resting her head on her arms, which were crossed on the table, and she was watching the dancers intently.  He could tell she was still exhausted, but like a little kid waiting up for Santa on Christmas Eve, she wasn’t willing to give up on the scene in front of her.  Her fingers drummed on the table to the beat of the music, though the half-glazed look in her eyes told him that she wasn’t familiar with the songs.  </p><p><br/> Poor kid’s exhausted, he thought charitably, then wondered why he’d thought it.  This was the enemy, not some sad young woman they’d rescued from being eaten by a vampire.  She didn’t need his sympathy!  But she’s not inherently evil, is she? Said the warm fuzzy feeling that now refused to leave him.  She hasn’t actually tried to hurt either of us, even though I’ve threatened her repeatedly; she’s helped us out, even though she had no real incentive.  Sam had told him to be nicer to her, that she wasn’t a threat to them as long as the leviathans were alive and there was no point in remaining hostile.  But he’d needed to stay hostile, to keep her at arm’s length, because he knew what would happen if he let his guard down: He’d get attached to her, like he’d gotten attached to Bobby, and Ellen and Jo, and…Well, it was depressing to go on.  That would make it so much harder to kill her when she finally turned on them.  It was better to keep his distance. </p><p><br/> But tonight…He wasn’t sure if it was the party atmosphere, or Sammy being happy and carefree, or the way weddings always brought up the strongest emotions in everyone, or the fact that he was surrounded by loads of people who hadn’t just lost their souls to Hell; but he wanted to be nice to Ash.  Maybe just for tonight, he could let his guard down.  Maybe she needed to see that humans weren’t just a bunch of asinine meatsuits bumbling around; that people were worth fighting for, worth saving.  That was something even Castiel wouldn’t be able to teach her.</p><p><br/> A slow song came on, and the dance floor changed from a mass of bodies acting randomly to orderly pairings of people swaying gently.  Several singles moved away to grab a drink or catch their breath until the next fast song played.  </p><p><br/> Dean nudged Ash’s elbow with his forearm, getting her attention.  She jerked upright, her eyes glowing momentarily under the dim lighting.  He would have thought they’d turn black like a demon, or even red like Crowley, but they were more like Castiel’s.  Did she have grace?    </p><p><br/> “What?  Is something wrong?”  She glanced around, looking for a potential source of danger they’d missed.</p><p><br/> “No, nothing’s…Wrong.”  He spaced out for a moment, wondering if she could smite things like an angel.  It would make life easier dealing with, for example, the leviathans, but would make her more dangerous to them as well.  He wanted to trust Cas’s judgement, but letting this thing exist just felt like a bad idea.  He shook his head, refocusing.  “Come on,” he said, holding his hand out for her.  “You’re not human till you’ve awkwardly slow-danced to Stairway to Heaven.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked at his hand, then up at him.  She cocked her head like a dog that was trying to learn a new command.  “What?”  </p><p><br/> Dean sighed.  “Just…Trust me on this one.  Live a little—you’re allowed to be more than just Crowley’s attack dog.”  She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet; her legs wobbled like a newborn deer, and she started to fall backwards.  Dean grabbed her shoulders, holding her upright.  “You’re alright, just hold onto me,” Dean said, giving her his arm again.</p><p><br/> No thanks, she thought, but she realized she couldn’t not do what he’d told her.  Crowley had been very clear in his direction to her when he told her she might be encountering the Winchesters: You listen to them like you’d listen to me.  As long as it doesn’t go against the Rules, you obey them.  They can be thick as hell, but they have an uncanny knack for survival.  He’d thought for a moment, before adding: They’ll never ask you to kill another human, that’s not their style.  They won’t hesitate to get you killed, however.  And they’re both very popular with the ladies.  I doubt they’ll try anything with you—you’re what they consider to be a ‘monster’—but they’ve surprised me before, and I wouldn’t put it past either one of them.  </p><p><br/> Ash let Dean lead her onto the dance floor, and now instead of being on the outside of everyone and looking in, she was right in the middle of them.  Considering that Crowley had kept her away from other demons as much as he could, and she’d only lived in small households of humans before, this all felt a bit overwhelming.  On her previous excursions with the hunters, she’d been working a case, too distracted to think about all the ordinary people around her.  But now, she was standing amidst almost a hundred other people, and they all seemed to remember she’d done something weird, even if they couldn’t say exactly what it was.  She wanted to run, but she could barely walk; unless she could convince Dean to chuck her out a window, there was no way she was making a quick exit.  </p><p><br/> “You’re fine,” Dean said, sensing her fear as she continued to glance around her.  “They don’t remember.”</p><p><br/> Ash tensed as he placed her hands on his shoulders, and she stopped breathing completely when he rested his own hands just above her hips.  </p><p><br/> “There’s fancier ways to slow dance, but with Stairway I’ve always been drawn to the deeply embarrassing yet classic middle school sway.  It requires absolutely no skill whatsoever, which is why it’s so popular, I think.”  Dean nodded to the surrounding couples, most of whom were now wrapped around each other in varying levels of intimacy, rocking back and forth and slowly turning in place.  One younger couple in particular caught Ash’s eye: They were pressed up against each other, his hands on her ass, and the dance they were doing might as well have been called ‘sex with clothes on.’  Dean noticed them as well, and chuckled.  “I went to a high school dance once at a Catholic school—I didn’t go there, but this girl I was into did, she lived in the apartment complex we were staying at.  There were actual nuns chaperoning, and if you got too close to your partner, they’d come over and yell at you; tell you to leave room between you for the holy spirit.”  </p><p><br/> Ash wasn’t sure she understood, but it was nice to see Dean laughing and not plotting new ways to kill her.  She exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath, and tried to remember how she normally breathed.  There was something about being this close to him, with his arms around her, that made her uncomfortable.  She could feel her heart pounding and hear her pulse in her ears, but she wasn’t afraid for her life.  Maybe she should be, given her current lack of strength and the fact that Dean still had the angel blade, plus the silver knife (he had so much cutlery on him, it was a wonder he didn’t clink when he walked).  But he seemed to be in a good mood, no doubt related to seeing Sam finally relax a little (he kept stealing glances at his brother dancing with the coordinator lady).  If he’d been anyone else, he would have been pleasantly drunk, but as it was he’d consumed just enough alcohol to remove the bitter edge of his sobriety and make him not a complete ass.  </p><p><br/> The thoughts and feelings of the other humans, now so close to her, were starting to overwhelm her and cloud her own thoughts.  That must be why she was so uncomfortable.  It definitely wasn’t being this close to Dean, his arms around her in a pseudo-intimate embrace, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, that made her heart beat ten times faster.  It must be the anxiety coming from someone else, like the middle-aged woman dancing with a slightly balding man who just wanted him to hurry up and propose to her so that she could have a wedding of her own, or the younger woman dancing with a suave-looking young man, who’d gone with him as his plus one and was now hoping not to screw things up so she could have a real relationship with him.  Then there was the mother of the groom, dancing with her husband, who was fretting because she didn’t believe that any woman was good enough for her son, including the one he’d just married; and the bride’s best friend and maid of honor, who’d already been the maid of honor in five weddings and was now standing off to the side of the dance floor, wondering when she’d finally meet someone who would love her forever.  </p><p><br/> There’s one aspect of humanity you’ll never get to experience, Ash thought bitterly.  Humans have no love for monsters, Crowley had told her.  Wherever you go, whatever you do, they will hate you.  It doesn’t matter if you hurt them or help them, you’ll always be a monster.  Hell, you may save all of creation someday, but that won’t matter.  The only people who could even begin to understand and accept you for who you are, would be hunters—and they’ll hate you more than anyone else ever could.  You’re going to spend your life searching for love and acceptance, but you’re never going to get it.  </p><p><br/> She had felt connected to people before, when she’d been living as a dog or cat.  She’d bonded with her ‘owners,’ and most of them loved her and she loved them.  But it was different—they didn’t love her, just the part of her that they could see.  At least they would pet her, and she could cuddle up to them—Crowley rarely touched her at all, and when he did it was usually part of her training and extremely unpleasant.  She really did miss physical contact, which was why snuggling up next to Sam the other day had been so nice (even though he was a hunter and wanted to kill her, she reminded herself).  Dancing with Dean felt different, though—maybe because she was a human, maybe because everyone else around her seemed to be in some level of relationship with their dancing partner—but it was more anxiety-inducing than comforting.  <br/> Still, she didn’t particularly want him to let go of her.  </p><p> “You okay?”</p><p><br/> Ash blinked; she realized she’d been staring at nothing.  “Yeah.  Just not used to being around this many people.”</p><p><br/> Dean tilted his head slightly.  “How’s that Miss Cleo thing going for you?”</p><p><br/> “What?”</p><p><br/> “Your telepathic voodoo thing.  Are you able to control it, or are you getting slammed with a hundred people’s thoughts right now?”</p><p><br/> “I, um…”  She shook her head, trying to separate the other minds from her own.  “I can sort of control it, I think?  I…I think it’s easier because most of the people here are happy.  They’re all thinking different things, and some of them are sad or scared or even angry, but it’s not as overwhelming as before.”</p><p><br/> Dean looked down at her suspiciously.  “Hang on, are you in my head?  And Sammy’s?”</p><p><br/> “No, I…It doesn’t work like that.  I just sort of feel things that come to me—things that people are thinking really hard, like a mental shout.  I can tell that you’re more relaxed than you normally are, but you’re still focused on making sure Sam’s safe.  But anyone could see that, they don’t have to see inside your head.”</p><p><br/> Dean smiled.  “Okay, that’s fair.  What about Sam?  Can you tell what he’s feeling?”</p><p><br/> She located him across the dance floor, but there were so many thoughts and feelings bouncing around in her head that she couldn’t pinpoint anything Sam-specific.  “I’d have to get closer to him to actually feel what he’s feeling.  But he looks happy.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  He does.  Kid deserves a break after what he’s been through.”</p><p><br/> She thought about what Crowley had told her about them both.  “You do, too.”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “I’ve done some shit I’m not proud of.  Gotten some good people killed and let some bad ones live.  Even if you leave out the time I spent in Hell, I’d say I still deserve whatever I’ve got coming for me, and it’s not gonna be anything good.”</p><p><br/> Ash tried to picture such a renowned hunter going to Hell.  Surely his angel friend would say he belonged in Heaven?  He killed monsters and saved people.  Even if he were a massive asshole, he should still be headed upstairs when he died.  She wanted to ask him what he’d done that he thought would send him back to Hell, but he looked happy and she didn’t want to ruin that by asking him about unpleasant things.   </p><p><br/> The song ended, and another slow song began.  Dean’s face scrunched up in disgust.  “Ugh, it’s that freaking vampire movie song.  You know how many teenage girls have been lured to real vampires after watching that sparkly shit?”  He shook his head.</p><p><br/> Ash slipped her hands off his shoulders, assuming he wouldn’t want to dance to it, but he didn’t let go of her.</p><p> <br/> “Want to learn a real easy waltz?”  He nodded to a nearby couple who looked a lot more graceful than the ones who were still waddling side to side.  </p><p><br/> She didn’t think she had much of a choice.  “Okay.”</p><p><br/> He took her hands again, placing one back on his shoulder and holding the other out to one side.  His free hand went back to her waist.  “It’s a box step—you just make a box with your feet.  I only know how to lead, but I think I know an easy way to show you what you’re supposed to do.  Stand on my feet.”</p><p> She laughed.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “Come on, you don’t weigh enough to hurt me.”</p><p><br/> She realized he was serious, but it seemed ridiculous.  Feeling awkward and idiotic, she put her toes over his; now he was supporting all her weight, though it didn’t seem to phase him at all.  What phased Ash was that she was now extremely close to him; any nearby nuns would have been very upset with them.  She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and a tingly feeling ran down her spine.  She could feel his breath on her as he spoke: <br/> “Forward, forward—no, hang on, for you it’s back, back—then right, I mean my right…You know what, never mind.  Just pay attention to your feet.”</p><p><br/> She giggled—he was being ridiculous, and she was standing on his feet trying to learn a dance, which was even more ridiculous.  Then she felt ridiculous for giggling.  <br/>She caught on to the dance steps quickly and slid her feet back onto the floor.  This dance was more fun, because she was actually doing something and had to think about it; every few ‘boxes,’ she would move at the wrong time or forget where her foot should be, and Dean would step on her toes, but with shoes on it didn’t really hurt.  </p><p><br/> “You don’t have to stare at my feet, you know.  I think you’ve got the idea.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked up at him.  “I have no coordination as a human,” she said.  “I can’t even throw a ball in a straight line.  So while you’d think this would be easy enough, you’d be—ohshit.”</p><p><br/> Without looking at Dean’s feet as a guide, she managed to trip herself up.  The small amount of strength left in her legs wasn’t enough to right herself, and she pitched forward as her muscles gave up.  As she fell into him, she felt his arm tighten around her waist; he released the hand he’d been holding and moved his free arm to her lower back, pinning her against him to prevent her from falling to the floor.  </p><p><br/> “You weren’t kidding about the coordination,” Dean chuckled.  “Alright, you’re officially never getting a weapon on a hunt.  You’ll end up stabbing one of us by mistake.”<br/> For a moment, as she was pressed against him, she felt something like electricity surge through her, leaving a tingling sensation in her fingers and the back of her head.  She didn’t know if it was the heat seeping through his clothes, or the way he smelled (underneath the slightly bittersweet musk of cologne and deodorant, there was his actual scent, which was impossible to describe to a human nose but was, to the shapeshifter, undeniably Dean), or the strength she felt in his muscles as he tensed to keep her upright; whatever the reason, she really liked it.  Oh Hell no, you do not have a thing for a hunter.</p><p><br/> Ash pushed away from him like he was on fire, removing herself from his chest.  Unfortunately, her body decided that enough was enough and she really did need to stop and recover from however she’d killed the demon possessing her earlier.  Dean pulled her tighter against him as he felt her legs give out even more.  </p><p><br/> “Okay kid, let’s get you home.”</p><p><br/> He ran his hand through her hair, like he was used to doing when Sammy was little and sick.  </p><p><br/> If her legs hadn’t already given out, they would have when he touched her hair.  She wanted to melt into his touch: Her head felt all tingly, and the feeling traveled down her neck and shoulders, then ran down her spine and into her legs.  She missed human touch, more than she’d ever realized.  </p><p><br/> Snap out of it, she reprimanded herself.  This is Dean Winchester.  This is not a human you should feel warm and fuzzy about.  You don’t get to feel warm and fuzzy about anyone, so stop it right now.  </p><p><br/> Dean caught Sam’s eye, gesturing to him that they were going to leave, assuming he’d get a ride back to Samantha’s place.  He thought about adding a lewd gesture regarding what Sam would be doing later, but thought better of it; he was still supposed to be an FBI agent, even if he was an off-duty one.  Sam stopped dancing, and he and Samantha came over to say goodbye.</p><p><br/> “You good?” Sam asked Dean, taking in Ash’s less than optimal state.</p><p><br/> He managed to hook her arm around his shoulders and get his hand around her waist to support her weight.  “Yeah, I just have to get her to the car—shouldn’t be a problem.  She’ll pass right out when we get back.  Kid’s had a rough day.  You need anything out of Baby?”</p><p><br/> “Uh, yeah, I’ll come with you.  I’ll be right back, Samantha.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean managed to get Ash into the car without her falling down, and Sam shoved a few things from the trunk into his jacket pockets before heading back inside.  <br/> “Anything happens, you call me,” Sam told Dean, suddenly radiating concern.  </p><p><br/> “I thought I was supposed to be the worrier,” Dean replied.  “Relax, dude.  Go have fun.”  He glanced back at the passenger seat, where Ash had managed to fold her legs up underneath her and was leaning back against the headrest, her eyes half shut.  “She’s not going to destroy the world in her sleep.”</p><p><br/> “Maybe she could—we don’t know.”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “Cas said it’s fine.”</p><p><br/> Sam cocked his head to the side, giving Dean a sideways glance.  “Why are you suddenly pro…Pro whatever she is?  The other day you were pissed at me for ‘cuddling,’ and now you’re teaching her how to dance.”</p><p><br/> “I don’t know, okay?  I just…You said I should be nicer, so I’m being nice.  She did some really weird shit today, I’m not gonna lie, but she didn’t hurt anybody that wasn’t a demon, and you know she had plenty of opportunity.”  He shrugged.  “I can’t say I trust her, but I trust that she’ll do whatever Crowley says, and right now he wants us alive so we can take care of the leviathans.  And if Cas is right about her, we may need her just as much as Crowley.”</p><p><br/> Sam didn’t like the sound of that, but Dean was right—they were better off keeping an eye on her than pushing her away and risk letting the angels or other demons get ahold of her.  “You remember what you told me.  Don’t get too friendly with her, alright?”</p><p><br/>Dean snorted derisively.  “Don’t be disgusting.  I know my standards can be low, but I do have them.  And whatever weirdo Nephilim shapeshifter she is…No, dude, I’m not going there.  I’m just being friendly.”</p><p><br/>Sam patted him on the shoulder.  “Whatever you have to tell yourself.  Alright, I’ll see you in the morning.  Don’t do anything stupid.”  </p><p><br/>“Bitch.”</p><p><br/>“Jerk.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Ash had fallen asleep by the time Dean pulled up to the motel.  She woke up as he shut the engine off.</p><p> <br/> “Hey, no offense to your walking skills right now, but it would be a lot easier on me if I just carried you in,” Dean said as she started to get out of the car.  </p><p><br/> Ash tried to make a disgruntled face, but she yawned, spoiling the effect.  “Okay.”  It wasn’t like she had any pride left at this point.</p><p><br/> He slid one arm under her knees and the other on her back, scooping her out of the car and elbowing the door shut behind him.  “Y’know, for a half-demon that’s supposed to team up with the Devil and destroy the world, you’re awfully…What’s the word?  Tame?”</p><p><br/> She leaned her head against Dean’s chest, feeling guilty for enjoying it.  “Rules,” she said, as if that explained everything.  As if she’d be running around Tokyo like Godzilla if there wasn’t a rule against killing people.</p><p><br/> Dean struggled to get his hotel key card out of his pocket without dropping her.</p><p><br/> “I can stand up; just put me down.”</p><p><br/> He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her, but he very gingerly lowered her feet onto the pavement.  She wobbled for a moment, holding onto his arm to steady herself.  He used his free hand to unlock the door and they stepped inside.  She immediately went to grab normal clothes so that she could change out of her dress, only falling down once in the process.</p><p><br/> Ash collapsed onto Sam’s bed, feeling like she’d been ripped open by a demon.  Well, that was half true—she had been possessed, but the demon itself had been ripped apart…Which still wasn’t a pleasant experience for her.  She slid under the covers, wishing she could shift into any other shape.  Human was just…Vulnerable, she thought.  No sharp teeth, no claws, no thick fur or scales to protect the skin—she understood why the boys slept with weapons on them.  </p><p><br/> Ash rolled onto her side, trying to get comfortable.  She pulled her knees into her chest, which made her feel a little more secure.  Her pillow was too soft, but it smelled like Sam, which was nice.  Underneath his smell, though, she could also smell everyone else who’d slept on it: Like an onion, the stuffing held layer upon layer of human scent.  Despite her discomfort at being the wrong shape, she fell asleep quickly, her body deciding it needed all the time to recuperate that it could get.  </p><p><br/> She woke with a start in the middle of the night: The clock on the nightstand said 1:13 AM.  The room was dark, but she could see like a cat; she sat up, scanning the room for anything unusual that might have woken her.  Dean wasn’t in his bed, nor was he anywhere else in the room.  Feeling on edge, Ash slipped out of her own bed, feeling a little stronger but only managing a sad sort of half-walk-half-hobble to the door.  She listened for any sort of sound to indicate danger, but there was nothing but the winter wind and the engines of passing traffic.  Peeking out the window, she caught a pair of headlights just before they switched off, and realized they belonged to the Impala.  Dean stepped out of the car, holding a carryout bag.  She watched him walk up to the room, then climbed back onto her bed so she wouldn’t spook him when he came inside.</p><p><br/> Dean crept inside as quietly as he could, then noticed that Ash was sitting up.  “Oh.  You’re awake.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I saw you were gone, so I got up…”</p><p><br/> “You mind if I turn the light on, then?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head, closing her eyes briefly as the lamp came on by the door.</p><p><br/> “I was so hungry I couldn’t sleep.  That reception food…It wasn’t their fault, half their crew had been taken by demons—but it was bad.”  He pulled a burger out of the bag and sat down at the little table, digging in.  </p><p><br/> Ash could smell the greasy burger and fries from where she sat, and it made her stomach rumble.</p><p> <br/> “Sorry I didn’t get you anything, I figured you’d still be passed out.”</p><p><br/> “It’s fine, I…Still feel kinda weird from earlier,” she said, not wanting to make him feel guilty.  She pulled her blanket over her again and curled up in her preferred sleeping position.  “I just woke up because you were gone, I guess.  I thought a demon might have gotten you.”</p><p><br/> Dean smirked, swallowing another bite of burger.  “It’s gonna take a lot more than a demon to get the jump on me.  You want me to turn the light off?”</p><p><br/> “No, that’s okay.  Um…Would you mind if I turned on the TV for a little bit?  I could use something mindless to get my mind off…Stuff.”</p><p><br/> “You’re not going to find anything at this time of night except dumb infomercials and televangelists.  Here,” he said, opening the laptop, “You got anything in mind?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “What do you guys watch?  Aside from porn, I mean.”</p><p><br/> Dean almost choked on his burger.  “Uh…I don’t know.  Sam was into this British guy for a while, he builds all kinds of crazy shit, like a hoverbike or a belt of spinning knives…It’s weird, but kinda interesting I guess.  Mostly we just look for supernatural stuff, we don’t have a whole lot of…Outside interests.  Are you good with computers?”</p><p><br/> “No.  I haven’t really had to use one…Ever,” she admitted.  “Sometimes when my owners were out, I would go online, but only to the sites they’d already gone to, so it wouldn’t look suspicious.  I know there’s ways to clear your history, but no one was willing to give their dog a tutorial.”</p><p><br/> She sat back up as Dean brought the laptop over to her.  He sat down next to her and searched for the channel he wanted, setting it up so it would run a playlist and she wouldn’t have to mess with it.  He set the computer down on the nightstand, tilting the screen so that Ash would be able to see it lying down, and went back to the table to finish his food.  </p><p><br/> Ash settled down again, watching the eccentric man work on building a beach house that went underground.  His accent was sort of similar to Crowley’s, which was nice; as scary as he could be, he was still the closest thing she had to family, and the only familiar face she’d ever known for more than a few years at a time.  She was just starting to fall asleep when an ad came on between videos, catching her attention.  </p><p><br/> “Hey Dean, you ever hear of this Ghost Facers show?  It looks like a comedy about hunting.”</p><p><br/> Dean popped the last bite of burger into his mouth, wiping his hands on his jeans as he made his way over to her.  “You’re kidding me.  Those jokers have their own YouTube account now?”  He gestured for Ash to scoot back so he could sit down next to the nightstand, clicking on the ad.  “Yeah, I know them.  Ran into them a couple years ago on a case.  Unfortunately, they’re not trying to be funny, they’re just that dumb.”</p><p><br/> The ad brought him to their channel home page, which listed a total of 83 videos.  </p><p><br/> Ash sat up and looked over his shoulder curiously.  “So they’re not a parody account?  He sounded like a really bad actor.”</p><p><br/> Dean rolled his eyes.  “Well, yes.  A bad actor and a bad excuse for a hunter.  Looks like they haven’t been up to much,” he said, looking over the titles of the clips.  They all looked like clickbait, but he doubted there was anything really interesting: ‘GHOST IN A CONVENT???’ ‘MAN PUNCHES GHOST!!!’ ‘REAL SUPERNATURAL SIGHTINGS IN OHIO!!!’  Everything was in caps and had too much punctuation, which meant it was all complete bullshit.  He clicked on the most recent video, kicking off his shoes and shifting position so he could lean back against the headboard and stretch his legs out on the bed.  </p><p><br/> “They think they’re the real deal.  Got one of their own killed last time we ran into them.  I figured they’d given up a long time ago, but I guess they’re too stupid to know when to quit.”</p><p><br/> He turned the laptop so they could both watch the screen.  Ash scooted a little closer to him so she could see better, but she was careful not to actually touch him.  She had a feeling she’d already gotten too touchy-feely with Dean today.  </p><p><br/> The Ghost Facers prattled on about a ghost that was supposed to live in a B&amp;B in Boulder, Colorado.  There was a lot of shoddy camera work, a lot of people gasping dramatically, and no sign of any ghost, though the crew’s EMF equipment went nuts.</p><p><br/> Dean chuckled.  “Ghost doesn’t want to be on their crappy show.”</p><p><br/>They watched a few more clips, Dean pointing out all their inaccuracies and making fun of their over-the-top dramatics.   It didn’t take long for the GhostFacers to just become straight-up annoying to him, though, and he decided to give up and go back to the British guy who built things.  Ash gradually sank down in the bed, fighting a losing battle against sleep.  </p><p><br/> It would have been so much easier if she acted like a monster, Dean reflected, glancing at the Abomination curled up next to him.  If she was rude and combative, or sly and conniving, or even over-the-top seductive before trying to rip his head off, he would have been fine.  He knew how to handle all of that, and it involved silver—or, he supposed, the demon blade.  But she was fairly calm and quiet, at least when she wasn’t fighting demons and leviathans, and she even had a rule she had to obey about not killing humans (which, he realized, if it was true that would mean Crowley couldn’t order her to kill him and Sam).  It was getting more and more difficult to think of her as the enemy.  </p><p><br/> But if she wasn’t the enemy, then what was she?</p><p><br/> Ash’s eyes were closed, her breathing steady; Dean slid off her bed and into his own, managing not to wake her up.  Today had been…An experience, that was for sure.  Her strange anti-demon voodoo had surprised him, but Cas had said it wasn’t an issue.  Cas, who was working with Crowley.  Because that always ended well for everyone, he thought bitterly.  Still, he’d gotten free drinks, and Sam had actually managed to relax and have a good time.  To be honest, it had been kind of fun hanging out with Ash, even though she had basically no motor function and she seemed to be preoccupied with other people’s thoughts.  It was nice just being close to another person (and he used the term ‘person’ loosely), to not be alone yet not have to worry about impressing someone (like a girl) or convincing them he was fine (like Sam).  He’d never been a real touchy-feely kinda guy, but there was something pleasant about dancing with her (or holding her upright while he danced, at least).  There was something pleasant about being around her in general, though he’d go back to Hell before admitting it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> It was almost nine in the morning when Sam met them at the local diner.  Sam and Dean immediately started discussing leviathans again, but Ash had a hard time focusing on their conversation.  Her head was foggy, and her muscles ached like she was sick, though she knew it had to be related to the previous night’s fight.  The only thoughts that seemed to come to her clearly were other people’s, and it took all her will not to yell at the diner in general to stop thinking so loud and let her think.  Their waitress was going through a custody battle with her ex-boyfriend: despite the fact that he was a known heroin user, he was still fighting for unsupervised visits in his home, and she was concerned about her little girl sticking herself with a used needle or getting into some other nasty shit that he kept tossed around his filthy apartment.  The couple behind Ash were grieving the loss of their unborn daughter, who was miscarried a week ago.  It was still all that either of them could think of.  Off in the corner, a middle-aged man sat alone; he was battling severe depression and was thinking about taking his own life.  </p><p><br/> Her mind sprang into sharp focus with the sudden arrival of Crowley at their table.  She jumped in her seat, sitting bolt upright.</p><p><br/> “And how are my favorite demon killers this morning?” he greeted them cheerfully.  </p><p><br/> Sam jerked back from the table, hands balling into fists; Dean automatically reached for the demon blade but didn’t remove it from his jacket.  There was no reason to cause a scene.  </p><p><br/> “You’re welcome, by the way,” Dean said, glaring at the king of hell.  “If you have any more asshat rivals you want taken down, feel free to kill them yourself.”</p><p><br/> “And Ash learned a new trick,” Crowley said, ignoring Dean’s comment.  He was suddenly sitting much closer to Ash than he had been a second ago.  He touched her forehead, quickly flipping through her mind.  “Hmm.”  His eyes narrowed: He’d gotten past the possession and the rest of the fighting and was now hung up on the bit where Ash had gone all teenage-girl over dancing with Dean.  </p><p><br/> Crowley released Ash, managing to look both amused and threatening.  “Squirrel taught you something, too, didn’t he?  Well, isn’t that sweet.”</p><p><br/> Ash shifted uncomfortably.  She pushed back with her foot, trying to slide away from her boss, and felt the air freeze around her: He wasn’t going to let her wriggle out of her discomfort that easily.</p><p><br/> The demon turned his attention to Sam and Dean.  “I need to borrow her back for a bit, to work on her training,” he said, standing and placing a hand firmly on her shoulder.   <br/> “What about the leviathans?” Dean snapped.</p><p><br/> Crowley blinked.  “They aren’t going anywhere.  Unless you’ve found another way to send them all back to Purgatory, I have nothing else to offer you.  You’ll get Ash back soon, don’t worry.  Just try not to do anything too idiotic in the meantime.”</p><p><br/> “Hey—”  But the demon vanished, along with the girl.  “God damn demons,” Dean grumbled.  </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4: Pharmaceuticals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The boys get more than they bargained for while looking into some dead Leviathans.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pharmaceuticals</p><p><br/> Crowley walked through the hole he’d just created in the old, abandoned mansion, frowning down on the figure he’d just thrown through the wall.  He was growing increasingly frustrated with her—not necessarily because she couldn’t do what he asked, but because she was starting to make him feel things again.  And remember things.</p><p> Crowley didn’t like remembering Things.  </p><p><br/> “It’s like you’re not even trying,” he huffed impatiently.</p><p> <br/> Ash staggered to her feet, kicking bits of drywall out of the way.  Plaster stuck to the sweat that coated her skin, forming a slow-drying paste.  Blood intermingled with the plaster, so that now she was dyed mostly pink.  She’d stopped trying to heal all the little cuts and bruises hours ago; he was just going to make more; what was the point? </p><p><br/> “I am,” she grumbled.  She didn’t like disappointing him.  He already disliked her enough.  </p><p><br/> “Really.  So if I brought, say, Squirrel here, and started making sock puppets out of his guts, you wouldn’t be able to stop me?”</p><p><br/> Ash tensed at the mention of Dean.  “I—” she started, trying to come up with a suitably neutral response.  “I thought he was supposed to be helping us.”</p><p><br/> Crowley shrugged.  “The point is, you’d be more motivated to stop me if I got your little boy toy involved.”</p><p><br/> She blushed, adding to the current pinkness of her face.  “He’s…I’m not…I’m not attracted to him,” she finally spat out.  “He’s nice to me.”</p><p><br/> The demon laughed.  “Nice to you?  He’s threatened to kill you almost every day you’ve been with him.  And of course you’re attracted to him; he’s got a lot in common with me.”</p><p><br/> Ash blinked.  After a moment, she said, “…He threatens to kill everybody.”  Thinking over what he’d said, she added, “And why does it matter if he’s like you?”</p><p><br/> “You’re naturally drawn to people who are familiar to you.  Freud had a lot more to say on the matter, but I’ve tortured him, and personally I think he’s a bit of a nutcase.  Essentially, you prefer Dean over Sam because Sam is too nice, and Dean is a devious bastard who gets so much pleasure out of killing things, I sometimes wonder if he’s still part-demon.  He fit right in during his time in Hell.  Bloody brilliant torturer.”</p><p><br/> Ah.  Yes, those did sound like attractive traits to her, even though part of her was sure they shouldn’t be.  </p><p><br/> Crowley’s teeth were starting to itch from being around the Nephilim too long.  And she really was a spitting image of—He shook his head.  It wasn’t important.  Right now, he needed to speed things along.</p><p><br/> “Alright, new tactic: I hold your hand, metaphorically, until you’re able to access your power on your own.”</p><p><br/> Ash perked up.  She was all for any sort of progress.  </p><p><br/> “I’m going to possess you so that I can show you how to use it.”</p><p><br/> She took a step back.  “But I killed a demon—”</p><p><br/> “I’m not just any demon,” he snapped.  “I think I can handle my own d—”  He cut himself off and shook his head.  Why did she have to make him feel so…Human?  “…I can handle you,” he amended.  “Sit.”</p><p><br/> They sat on the floor facing each other.  Ash still looked worried, but she trusted that Crowley would at least bail out if he felt like he was in danger.</p><p> <br/> Crowley smoked out of his favorite meat-suit.  Ash cringed back reflexively as the red smoke came toward her, and then everything went black.</p><p><br/> When she regained her senses, she knew something was wrong.  It was like she was looking out through a television screen at her own life.  She could feel herself sitting on the floor, but she couldn’t move.  She couldn’t even move her eyes to look around the room.  Her instinct was to try to push through the problem, like she had with the demon that had possessed her before.  She jerked her head to the right and felt a sharp pain shoot down her spine.</p><p><br/> Bloody Hell!  Crowley’s voice said in her mind.  Don’t…Don’t do that again.  He stood her up and turned to face the room’s far wall.  There was a brief unpleasant feeling like someone rummaging around inside her, and then she felt him draw on her power.  It felt as natural as breathing or shape-shifting, and now that she knew how easy it was, she couldn’t wait to try it for herself.  The demon brought her hand up, and with a twitch of her fingers, the wall split down the middle.  </p><p><br/> Crowley could feel her excitement.  Stay focused, he warned her.  You’re stronger than you think you are.  He relinquished control of her body back to her, and she staggered for a moment as she regained her balance.  She could still feel his presence, still guiding her, like a parent holding onto the handlebars of their child’s bike.  She reached for her power, staring down the wall like it was a leviathan.  </p><p><br/> The floor shook as the split in the wall widened.  Plaster exploded out like confetti, and a crack formed in the ceiling.  </p><p><br/> Not bad for a start, Crowley said.  Now, let’s see what else you can do…</p><p> </p><p> <br/> On December 1, Sam and Dean got a call from Sheriff Jody Mills.  </p><p><br/> “You boys know of anything that bleeds black?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, you got something for us?”</p><p><br/> “Couple of employees from the pharmaceutical plant.  They were found dead in the company’s warehouse this morning.  They looked like they’d been mauled by…Something.  The floor was covered in this thick black blood, and it was oozing out of everywhere.  Whatever killed them took their heads—it wasn’t a clean cut, looks like it ripped them right off.  Luckily, they were wearing their work badges, so identification was easy.”</p><p><br/> “They’re leviathans,” Dean said.  “You don’t want to mess with them.”</p><p><br/> “I don’t know if they have anything to do with the other weird stuff that’s been happening in town, but maybe you could come take a look at it, if you’re in the area?”</p><p><br/> “What stuff?”</p><p><br/> “A lot of disappearances.  Men and women, aged 16-35.  So far, we’ve got 15 reports of missing men and 35 missing women, if you include the whole county.  I wasn’t suspecting it was anything up your alley, but now…”  She sighed.  “And there’s also the burnt corpses.  Those just started popping up three days ago, it’s all still under investigation.  We’ve found what we think are ten bodies, but some of them were burned nearly to ash—it’s possible there were more, but they disintegrated.  So far, we’ve been able to ID three of them, and none match any of the missing persons reports.”</p><p> “Did any of these burnt victims happen to have their heads missing, too?”</p><p><br/> “It’s possible.  There are so many pieces missing off the bodies, it’s hard to say for sure, but I can check.”</p><p><br/> “Any of these people you ID’d, did they happen to work at the same pharmacy?”</p><p><br/> “Pharmaceutical manufacturer,” Jody corrected, “And yes, they did.  Honestly I thought we were dealing with one of those hella crazy serial killers until I saw the black blood.”</p><p><br/> “We’ll check it out.”</p><p><br/> Once they’d hung up, Sam turned to his brother.  “Something mauling leviathans and burning them…Could be Ash, couldn’t it?”</p><p> “Ugh.  I hope so--Imagine if it’s something else,” Dean said, already starting to pack up.  “How many more monsters can one city handle?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> On December 3, Sam and Dean found themselves in a world of shit.  The pharmaceutical company was, surprise surprise, now owned by Dick Roman, head douchebag leviathan.  Missing locals’ disappearances were traced back to bars and restaurants, where the Winchesters found evidence that certain drugs had been added to their food and drink.  Everything had gone well until they’d broken into the laboratory to investigate—they’d expected to encounter maybe 3-6 grunts and were completely overwhelmed when about three dozen leviathans swarmed them.  Whatever they were cooking, it was clearly hot stuff, and Dick was not playing around.  </p><p><br/> Instead of being eaten immediately, the boys were treated to the whole ‘James Bond villain’ spiel, complete with the cliché “It doesn’t matter if I tell you all our plans now, because soon you will be dead, mwa ha ha” line.  A man who seemed to be in charge, whose badge claimed he was ‘George,’ cheerfully led the horde of leviathans toting the prisoners down several flights of stairs to a long hallway with windowed doors on both sides.  Each room looked like a cross between a cheap motel and a fancy prison cell: There was a tiny bathroom like they had in some RVs, with a toilet, sink, and shower all shoved into what was basically a closet; a full-sized bed; and a TV mounted to the wall.  Most of the rooms also held a young woman, often crying.  Sometimes there was a young man as well.  </p><p><br/> George halted them in front of one door and began rattling off information like a seasoned but rather pompous tour guide.  “This is the research and development site for our breeding program.  We still have a few bugs to iron out, I’m afraid, but that’s science for you.  We’ve selected relatively healthy specimens of breeding age, as you can see, and are using them to iron out the last little glitches in our medication.  We couldn’t leave this sort of thing to you, you realize—even if you wouldn’t all be stoned out of your minds and complacent as hell, there would still be the issue of breeding for selected traits, and no one ever wants to fuck the fat girl.”  He grinned with more teeth than absolutely necessary.  “But she’s the one we want to eat, so we’re streamlining the process.  Test tube babies…”  He shrugged.  “It would work, but why deal with all that labor when a simple drug will get you to do the work for us?”  He gestured to the window in the door behind them, and Sam and Dean were shoved forward to see.  Inside, a man was jackhammering a woman on the bed.  “The female receives a compound that promotes complacency and lethargy.  We tried knocking them out completely, but they’re more likely to conceive if they’re awake.  It shouldn’t matter, I know, but biology can be funny like that.  The man, we give a stimulant combined with a heavy dose of lust-inducing pheromone—he’s desperate to fuck anything we throw at him.  Fat girls, skinny girls, old ladies, other men, a goat—they just do not care.  And that is how we breed fat little humans.”  He was practically beaming at the boys.  “We are having to make some adjustments to the male serum, as a few of them have gotten a little feisty and killed their mates.  Also, an early version of the drug sterilized them.  But we’re almost ready to roll out the final product!  You’re just in time to join us for the final trials.”</p><p><br/> They were each towed to a different door, still held in place by several leviathans apiece.  Each was injected with the drug.  </p><p><br/> “And I do hope you’ll join us for dinner after,” George smiled, licking his lips.  “Gentlemen…Enjoy your ladies.”</p><p><br/> They were unceremoniously flung into their cells, both stumbling to the floor.  Dean heard the door slam shut behind him and felt the surge of adrenaline and lust in his veins.  It was similar to when he’d been fighting the Sins, except that in that case Wrath had clearly been driving—Lust was clinging on to the rear bumper, in the case of that particular metaphor.  This was different—he just really wanted to fuck someone.  Violently.  </p><p><br/> Okay Dean, pull it together, he told himself.  You’ve done a lot of shit in your life you came to regret, but there are two things you aren’t: You aren’t a murderer, and you aren’t a rapist.  You can override this.  The bits of his brain that normally controlled basic things, like blinking and breathing, were now being called on to overcome the overwhelming urge to slam his hard cock into the first hot, wet hole he could find.  He tried not to look at the naked girl on the bed—maybe if he refused to acknowledge that there was another person in the room, (a female person with tits and a pussy he could fuck into oblivion,) he could get out of this place with his soul still intact…</p><p><br/> He couldn’t not look at her; the lure of another hot body in the room was too much to ignore.  His eyes raked up her body, trying to turn his head away and failing.  He was sweating and trembling just from the effort not to leap on her and jam his dick inside her.  Her skin was pale; she had a short, athletic build, with visible quads and the ghost of a six-pack.  Her breasts were smaller than he’d normally go for, but that only made them perkier; he had to fight the urge to squeeze them until they burst.  He didn’t dare look at her face—he couldn’t handle that right now.  She’d be doped up but still crying hysterically, looking at him like he was the monster, and Christ he wanted to show her that wasn’t the case.  He grabbed himself through his jeans, wondering if he could punch himself in the dick hard enough to lose his raging hard-on, but all he wanted to do was whip it out and dive into that sweet, sweet pussy.  </p><p><br/> He was on top of her before he could even think to stop himself.  Somewhere in the part of his brain that was still human and cognizant, alarm bells were going off.  The girl beneath him was heavily drugged; her eyes were half shut and out of focus.  There was something familiar about her, but his lust-fogged brain wasn’t concerned—he’d fucked tons of chicks over the years, odds were that he was going to find one that looked familiar to him.  Dean propped himself up with one arm, his other hand madly clawing at his belt buckle while he simultaneously used his legs to shimmy the girl’s thighs farther apart.  Managing to unfasten his belt, he moved on to the button and fly of his jeans, leaning down to nip at the girl’s neck as he worked.</p><p><br/> If he had been able to hear the alarm bells in his head, he might have anticipated what happened next; in his lust-crazed state, however, it took him completely by surprise.  The girl’s eyes flew open, and her palm connected with his chest, hitting him with more strength than any girl her size should have had.  He flew backward off the bed, landing flat on his back on the floor, the wind knocked out of him.  The girl jumped off the bed, wobbled on her feet, and collapsed to her knees.  Adrenaline still coursing through him, Dean leapt back up and charged at her, grabbing her by her neck and pinning her to the wall.  Her eyes lit up, glowing bright blue, and for a moment that was all he could see.  He felt an immense calm wash over him, and the lust-filled haze dissipated to a level where he was now able to think coherently.  Then he was thrown forcefully against the opposite wall, pinned by an invisible force.  He struggled against it until he recognized the girl across from him.</p><p><br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> She smiled brightly, like he hadn’t just tried to have sex with her and she hadn’t just thrown him across the room.  “Hey, Dean.  Funny running into you here.”  Her eyes flicked to the door and back to him.  “…Do you think you can fight, or do I need to knock you out until this is over?”</p><p><br/> “I…”  She’d done something to him to help counteract the drug, but it was still in his system.  He wanted to grab her and…Do things to her, even though the logical part of him knew she was a shape-shifting Nephilim who worked for Crowley—who was Crowley’s daughter, oh Hell no.  As he struggled in vain against her power, he was also aware of his pants (and boxers) sliding down to his ankles.  </p><p><br/> “Yes!  Christ, I can fight, just let me pull my pants up!”  </p><p><br/> Ash released him and he hastily clothed himself.  His dick was so hard, it was painful to shove it back into his jeans, but maybe the pain would help take away the urge to fuck everything and anything.  Yes—pain helped, but…Ash was still naked.  She’d already turned her attention away from Dean, though, and was focused on the door.<br/> “We’ve got company.  Stay back,” Ash said, positioning herself between him and the door.</p><p><br/> He nearly choked on his own tongue trying to protest, but seemed unable to form coherent words, as all he could do was stare at her insanely tight, muscular ass.  The remaining drug in his body clamored for control.  </p><p><br/> Mercifully, Ash shifted, and he was forced to jump back as her dragon form took up most of the available space.  While the leviathans had found men capable of goat-fucking, the hunter and survivalist portions of Dean’s brain drew a hard line at dragons.</p><p><br/> As the leviathan swung the door open, baring its real and too numerous teeth, Ash blasted him with fire.  It screeched, flailing its arms, and the dragon darted forward, clamping its jaws around its neck and severing its head from its body.  Black blood spurted across the doorway.  Ash squeezed through the door and into the hall as half a dozen more of the enemy rallied and charged at her.  She breathed more fire, obstructing their vision, and snapped at the closest one, catching her teeth on his shirt.  His arm swung up, holding a gun, and she countered by whipping her head to the side and biting through his arm.  Wrist, hand, and gun dropped to the floor, and she kicked the gun behind her, hoping that Dean would be able to grab it before another leviathan could.  She then head-butted her target into the opposite wall before shooting more fire and continuing to advance on the rest of the monsters.</p><p><br/> In the small space, a gun going off was unbelievably loud.  Ash felt the bullet graze her shoulder and roared in pain; another struck her leg, before a third was embedded deep in her chest.  They weren’t silver, but they stung like Hell; to avoid becoming the world’s largest and easiest target, Ash shifted into a snake.  The leviathans shouted in confusion, trying to determine where she’d gone.  She slithered across the tile floor, weaving in between their feet.  As soon as one would spot her and try to step on her, she was already somewhere else; a woman tried to shoot her but ended up shooting her companion in the foot.  He cursed at her and healed himself, but their squabble quickly built into an all-leviathan shouting match as to how to deal with this new development.  Ash took advantage of the chaos, slithering up a man’s leg all the way up to his neck, then shifting into a hellhound and ripping his head off.  The others rallied quickly, surrounding her with guns and way too many teeth.  She continued to fight, shifting into something small and then striking in a larger form, until she heard a voice behind her say: </p><p><br/> “What do you think you’re doing, hunter?”</p><p><br/> Ash spun in her current dragon form, using her back legs to donkey-kick a man through one of the other cell doors.  Dean was in the hallway, trying to bust down another door, but he’d been spotted by a fresh batch of leviathans.  He had no Borax and nothing that would remove their heads, rendering himself defenseless.  Ash leapt forward, roaring and spitting fire, hoping to draw them away from Dean.  Most of them turned to face her, but there was one man who stayed trained on Dean: Even without his leviathan strength, his human form had a good fifty pounds over the hunter, and he was solid muscle.  Ash tried to make her way over to them through the throng of new attackers.</p><p><br/> Dean struggled fruitlessly against the leviathan.  Punching and kicking just seemed to amuse the man, like a cat who was being assaulted by an overly assertive mouse.  <br/> “Who let you out of your cage?” the man asked in his most condescending tone.  He grabbed Dean by the neck and held him up off the ground.  Dean struggled in his grip, clawing at his arm with his hands and kicking at him, but he might as well have been kicking a brick wall.  With its free hand, the leviathan produced a syringe.  “You obviously didn’t get enough of your medicine.”</p><p><br/> Dean flinched as the needle came toward his neck; but instead of getting jabbed with more serum, they were both knocked sideways by something he couldn’t see.  The leviathan shouted in surprise, releasing his grip on Dean’s neck, and fell to the ground.  It was a hellhound, Dean realized, as the thing tore into the man’s flesh.  He supposed the leviathan could see it, since they were both creatures not of this world, but that didn’t make it any easier for him to hurt her.  She snarled and snapped as they rolled over and over, each vying for control of the fight.  Finally, the leviathan’s throat was torn open, black goo splattering everywhere, it looked like she’d finally won—but before she could detach his head from his body, he plunged the syringe into her, injecting her with a full dose of serum.</p><p><br/> Ash snarled as she felt the needle pierce her skin.  She expected to feel the familiar wash of calm from the sedative and have her legs turn to jelly, and mentally prepared herself to steal energy from the leviathan once it took effect.  The man pushed her off him and healed his throat, a gloating laugh escaping his smug lips.  </p><p><br/> “Guess it’ll work for you too, sweetheart.  I got another dose for your boyfriend here, you can fuck each other like rabbits till we slit your mangy little throats and eat you like ca—”</p><p><br/> Ash’s jaws closed around his throat, biting him multiple times in the same spot before wrenching his neck hard enough to snap bone and tendon.  As his head rolled away from his body, she pounced on it and attacked it with enough ferocity to crack the skull.  Then she flung it away, smacking another leviathan across the face with it.  <br/> She turned to face the remaining leviathans.  She could feel the serum coursing through her, and it felt like she was on fire.  It was like she’d been half-asleep her whole life, and someone had just woken her for the first time: She could see things clearer, hear things better, and smell stronger.  She could see where the leviathans were, but also where they had been and where they were about to be; she could hear their slimy black hearts beating, and their shallow breaths; and though they’d always smelled a little different, now it was night and day between them and a regular human, like orange versus mint.  She felt stronger and more powerful than she ever had, like she could take on the world.  Way, way, way in the back of her mind, some long-repressed sexual urge fizzled and was promptly taken over by the desire to kill.    </p><p> </p><p><br/> A female went to stab Dean with the same serum, but Dean was still struggling to breathe from being choked out by the last guy and wasn’t quick enough to evade her.  Ash spun to stop her, but tripped over the fallen leviathan’s body.  Reach out, the fire in her urged.  Stop her.  She thought about what she wanted to do, and felt a hot tendril of energy reach out and grab the woman’s wrist, freezing her in place.  Dean used the moment to kick out at her, setting her off balance.  Ash tugged on the energy and the woman was pulled back to her.   </p><p><br/> Ash lost focus as more levis swarmed, breaking the hold she had on the woman.  The leviathan turned on her, snarling, and plunged her own syringe into Ash’s hide.  Ash felt the rush of fire through her veins again, amping her up even more.  As the first dose really started to kick in and the second began to take effect, she realized she was beginning to lose control of her own thoughts, and all that mattered was killing.  As that was on the agenda anyway, she didn’t really see a need to fight it, though seeing Dean stagger to his feet was a reminder that she shouldn’t just kill everything in front of her.  There were rules, after all.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?” Dean called hesitantly, staring at a spot right next to where she was standing.  </p><p><br/> It would be so easy to rip his throat out.  He’s only human, she thought, then shook her head.  It’s the serum.  This is Dean, and he’s human.  No killing humans, rule number one.  She shifted into her human form to talk to him; as several leviathans advanced, she pushed out with her energy, flinging them back down the hall.  </p><p><br/> Dean blinked in surprise.  “How long have you been able to do that?” he asked, too dumbfounded not to stare at her naked form.  </p><p><br/> “I’ve been working on it,” she replied, turning and performing the same move on an incoming pair of security guards.  </p><p><br/> Dean hesitated, feeling uncharacteristically helpless.  There was still just enough serum running through him that he felt a little too horny and violent, and it felt like ants were running around under his skin.</p><p><br/> “Where’s Sam?” Ash asked.</p><p><br/> “Sam’s in there,” Dean said, suddenly remembering what he’d been doing in the first place.  “I can’t get the door open, and he…”  Dean peeped through the little window and could see his brother on top of a naked woman, jackhammering away.  He turned away quickly.  “He’s not going to be much help.”</p><p><br/> “Move,” Ash snapped.  It was the most assertive she’d ever been, but right now she felt like she could order the moon out of the sky and it would obey her (and if it didn’t, she would kill it).  She reached out with her energy and felt the complicated latching mechanism, using her power to shift the bolts aside.  The door swung open just as the first of the leviathans got back on their feet.  </p><p><br/> Ash left Dean to extract Sam so that she could tackle the remaining black bloods.  She let the fire within her take over, feeling her heart pound as she charged them.  Even if she wasn’t technically able to kill them all, she was at least going to make it very difficult and painful for them to pull themselves back together.  She attacked with a ferocity she’d never used before, moving and shifting and biting with deadly precision.  Somewhere, in a part of her mind, she was conscious of the leviathans fighting back: Shooting, punching, stabbing, slicing, biting—but it wasn’t something that she needed to concern herself with.  Bullets sunk into her flesh, but in her single-minded focus, the pain was little more than a pin-prick.  Blades sliced at her, tearing her open, but it was nothing a simple shift to her next form couldn’t fix.  All she needed, all she wanted, was to destroy them.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean was not having as much fun dealing with Sam.  While Ash’s emotional voodoo seemed to have cured him of the worst of his own serum-powered sex drive, Sam had not been so lucky.  Even with Dean yelling at him, he would not get off the girl or even acknowledge Dean’s existence.  And while Dean had stumbled in on his brother having sex before, that had been a brief awkward moment, whereas this…This was just plain nasty.  At least Sam was mostly clothed—he’d barely pulled his jeans down at all, just enough so his balls wouldn’t get caught in his zipper—but this was still something Dean really didn’t need to be part of.  </p><p><br/> Okay, Dean thought, shutting his eyes, I’m going to have to hit him.  Hard enough to knock him out, probably.  While he’s actively humping that girl.  Nothing weird about that.  Just…Punching my little brother while he fucks this almost comatose chick.  Right.  No problem.  </p><p><br/> He ducked back into the hallway to gather whatever spirit he needed to get Sam out of there and couldn’t help but watch as Ash ripped apart the pack of leviathans.  Well, she clearly has things under control out here.  I guess I can’t put it off any longer.  He ran back into the little room, hoping to charge right up and whack him on the head before his brain could process what he was doing, but skidded to a halt as Sam gave a definitive groan, coming inside his partner.  </p><p><br/> “I could have lived the rest of my life without seeing that, thanks.”</p><p><br/> Sam pulled away from the girl and pulled his pants back up.  He turned around and finally seemed to notice his brother.  “Dean?!  What—Oh my god, I just—”  He turned back to his unwilling but complacent partner, bringing his hands to his face in horror.  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t…I couldn’t control…”</p><p><br/> “Sam!” Dean snapped.  “I need you to focus.  We are surrounded by leviathans.  There are other humans here, and we might be able to get them out.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s hands dropped from his face: He looked pale and ready to cry.</p><p><br/> “Sammy?”</p><p><br/> He nodded, his lip quivering.  “How—how did you--?”  It seemed that Sam was not going to formulate a complete sentence anytime soon. </p><p><br/> “Ash is here.  They caught her just before they caught us.”</p><p><br/> He frowned.  “Ash.  Crowley’s Ash?”</p><p><br/> Dean nodded.  “Come on, we need to move.”</p><p><br/> Sam took a step forward and stopped, thinking.  “What…They caught her?  How did she get out?”  </p><p><br/> “Later!” he snapped.  “We have a bit of a predicament right now!”  Realizing he wasn’t going to get much help from his brother, he went to the woman in the bed to test their odds of getting the other humans out alive.  “Can you get up?  Can you walk?”</p><p><br/> The woman looked stupefied for a moment, then nodded and got up, wrapping the sheet around herself like a towel.  She still seemed to be heavily medicated, but she was slowly returning to her senses: She was crying, for example.  That must be a good sign, right?  Maybe they could get everyone out without turning into Leviathan Chow.  <br/> “Okay, stay behind me,” Dean said, poking his head back into the hallway.  The woman shuffled along behind him, but Sam still seemed stuck in place.  Dean rolled his eyes: He’d have to deal with his brother once he’d rounded up the other victims.  </p><p><br/> The hallway looked different than it had a moment ago.  There was no longer a press of leviathans: Instead, there were lots and lots of bits of leviathan scattered everywhere.  The floor, walls, and even ceiling were splattered with black goo.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> All of the cell doors swung open, and Ash appeared a moment later as a human, wearing a lab coat that had once been white.  </p><p><br/> “You found Sam?” she asked, her bare feet splashing through black blood as she trotted back down the hall toward him.</p><p><br/> “Yeah, he’s…He’s here, he’s just…Not doing well.  Did you, uh…Do all that?” Dean asked, waving his hand at the pile of body parts.</p><p><br/> Ash nodded, and her eyes glowed ominously for a moment.  “There are more upstairs.  I can take them out, if you follow with the humans.  Do you need help with Sam?”</p><p><br/> “No, I’ll…I’ll manage him.”  He shifted his weight uncomfortably, realizing that her eyes were trained on his neck in a way that wasn’t exactly hungry, but definitely wasn’t friendly.  Hadn’t the leviathans injected her with their lust serum, or whatever it was called?  They certainly seemed to think that’s what they’d done, but Ash evidently had not gotten the memo.  Bloodlust, maybe, with a side of demonic powers—she didn’t want to jump his bones, she wanted to crush them.  </p><p><br/> Ash ran her tongue across her bottom lip, which probably would have looked sexy under almost any other circumstance but now just seemed terrifying.  She shook her head, turning away from Dean.  “Right.  I’ll see you on the outside, then.  Just…Try not to let the humans get too close to me, alright?”</p><p><br/> Before he had a chance to reply, she had already changed into a wolf.  She took off running down the hall, disappearing through the door at the end.  Dean shivered, bringing a hand to his throat.  I didn’t even get to apologize for almost fucking her, he thought, then pushed the idea aside.  He’d only start to feel guilty, like Sam, and they couldn’t afford to both be blubbering idiots right now.  He’d have to bring it up with her later—since she was back, that meant she’d be staying with them again, right?  <br/> Dean moved from cell to cell, coaxing whoever he could to follow him.  If they’d had more time, or been better prepared, he could have taken them all, but there was no time with things as they were.  The leviathans that Ash had disassembled would start reassembling themselves soon, and they needed to be out of there before that happened.  </p><p><br/> Despite the creepy new demon thing she was doing, it would be nice to have Ash back, Dean thought.  For a freak and a monster, she’d really grown on him during the short time she’d spent with them.  Sam seemed to like her, too.  Ultimately, of course, she was just an agent of Crowley and not to be trusted; but she had that dog-like friendliness toward them, she continued to help them even after he’d threatened her multiple times and tried to kill her, and it was hard not to like her for that.  And Sammy could have the dog he always wanted without getting that damn dog smell on everything.</p><p><br/> “Sammy, let’s go!” Dean called once he’d gathered all available humans at the stairwell.  A disembodied hand started to walk its way across the black ooze, reminding him of the urgency of their situation.  All their weaponry was in the Impala, parked outside the bar they’d been abducted from—right here and now, they had no defenses.  <br/> Sam poked his head out of his cell, looking like a kicked puppy.  “I’m right behind you,” he said, his voice sounding unnaturally husky, like he was struggling not to cry.<br/> “You better be,” Dean snapped.  He couldn’t handle babysitting Sam and getting the other victims out.  Sam just needed to suck it up for five minutes and get his ass out of there, and everything would be fine.  Dean motioned for everyone to follow him.  “Shout if you see anyone coming from behind,” he instructed.  “And if you see a…Well, any kind of animal, you let me deal with it.”</p><p><br/> As they reached the main floor, the sprinkler system kicked on, slowly soaking everyone with freezing cold water.  Ash must have been playing with fire, Dean thought.  He ushered his group to the rear of the building, guessing that the leviathans would be more likely to guard the front door.  He came across more headless and limbless leviathans, some badly burnt, and the smell of cooked semi-human flesh was enough to send more than one of his flock into retching fits.  Dean felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, but he’d smelled much worse in his career.  </p><p><br/> “Almost there, let’s keep it moving!” he barked to the group, and they stumbled forward, slipping on black goo and melted polyester.  He couldn’t help but notice a lack of Sam at the back, and realized he’d have to go back and drag his brother out.</p><p><br/> “I think they should stop right there,” a menacing voice said.  </p><p><br/> Dean turned around, coming face to face with a lab technician with a gun.  </p><p><br/> It’s always too good to be true, Dean thought bitterly.  Well, I’m fucked.  I doubt Cas will bring me back again.  He darted forward, grabbing the man’s gun arm and attempting to wrestle the weapon away from him, but the leviathan had inhuman strength.  He looked at Dean with amusement, like he was being assaulted by a tenacious butterfly.  He grabbed Dean’s arm with his free hand and twisted, and Dean released his grip immediately, dropping to his knees as he felt the monster begin to crush the bones in his wrist.  The other captives started to panic, screaming and running, but no one was brave enough to approach the leviathan to try and help Dean.  </p><p><br/> “Winchester,” the lab tech growled.  “I knew they shouldn’t have let you live.  It was all very…James Bond, wasn’t it, the way they practically handed you a chance to escape.  Though, if it wasn’t for your fiery little friend, you’d still be locked in your cage.  She’s a handful, isn’t she?”</p><p><br/> Dean moved to punch him with his free hand, but he blocked him easily, grabbing his other wrist and crushing it in his grip as well.  Thoroughly pissed, Dean pulled the only move he had left, and bit the leviathan’s arm.  </p><p><br/> The tech let go of his wrist in surprise, then hissed and backhanded Dean across the face, hard.  He felt his brain bounce off the back of his skull and his vision swam.  <br/> “You call that a bite, hunter?  This is a bite,” the monster hissed.  Rows upon rows of teeth erupted from his mouth as it grew and shifted; Dean struggled in vain as the creature bent over him, its jaws gaping wide to bite down on his head—</p><p><br/> It released its grip on Dean’s other wrist and was flung to the side, crashing into an expensive-looking piece of equipment.  It hissed and snarled in confusion before its face returned to normal and it got back onto its feet.  It wheeled to face its attacker, and saw the dragon on the other side of the room.  </p><p><br/> “This isn’t shifter shit,” it said, approaching her slowly.  “You’re pulling demonic crap.  What the hell kind of monster are you?”</p><p><br/> Ash swished her tail from side to side, her eyes glowing brightly.  The leviathan pulled his gun and fired repeatedly at her, but when the smoke from the gun cleared, she was gone.  He blinked, his head whipping around the room in search of her; he jumped when she appeared just inches behind him as a human.  She grabbed the collar of his lab coat and pulled down, shucking it off him before he could think to react.  </p><p><br/> “Thanks for that,” she said, letting it fall to the ground.  “You have no idea how annoying it is having to run around naked everywhere.”</p><p><br/> The leviathan snarled, opening his true mouth again, but before he could strike, he was once more being thrown through the air by an invisible force.  He struck a wall and struggled against her power, screeching and gnashing his grisly vortex of teeth.  Ash raised her hands in front of her, curling her fingers like she was grabbing onto something.  The muscles in her arms flexed, and she ground and bared her teeth; her hair began to drift back as if blown by the wind.  Dean watched as the leviathan’s neck slowly bent, then stretched, and with a final burst of effort Ash threw her hands apart, tearing its head from its body without touching it.  She released her hold on him and the corpse slumped to the floor, the head rolling under a table before it came to a final stop.  </p><p><br/> Ash panted hard, the glow fading a little from her eyes, and put on the lab coat she’d removed from him a moment ago.  She turned to face Dean, her face flushed and sweaty.  </p><p><br/> “You okay?”</p><p><br/> He opened his mouth to speak, but her little act had left him speechless.  That was Crowley-level shit; she shouldn’t have been able to do that, should she?  Then again, she was a Nephilim hybrid.  He managed to nod.  </p><p><br/> Ash raised herself up on her toes and scanned the remaining survivors.  “Where’s Sam?”</p><p><br/> The thought of Sam was enough to bring his voice back.  “Thought he was following me, but I guess…He’s still down in the basement.”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “I’ll get him.”</p><p> “Hold on; I should go with you.  Let’s get these guys out of here, and we’ll go together.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Dean was able to regroup the humans that were still with them and escort them outside.  The lab tech’s gun was out of bullets, not that they would have stopped a leviathan anyhow, but it meant they were still weaponless aside from Ash’s power.  They moved quickly down to the basement, encountering pieces of leviathan but none that had reconstituted themselves yet.  </p><p><br/> The basement itself, however, was a different story.  Three of them had already managed to assemble themselves, though they looked unhappy about it.  Seeing Ash made them even less happy.</p><p><br/> She handed the lab coat to Dean and shifted into a hellhound.  The leviathans snarled and snapped their true jaws at her as she advanced; she darted around them, snapping at arms and legs, shifting whenever one got too close to grabbing or biting her.  She had found that she could turn into something small, like a mouse, then shift to a larger animal as she was jumping, and it would increase her momentum while keeping up the element of surprise.  One of the leviathans caught her by surprise, sinking its teeth into her wolf form; she howled in pain, biting the thing’s midsection, but it didn’t let her go.  She shifted into a dragon, and the change in size was enough to dislodge its teeth from her; with a quick snap of her neck, she ripped its head off.  As she fought the other two, Dean was able to sneak past and find Sam, back in the room he’d left him in.  </p><p><br/> Sam was lying on the bed, his eyes slightly glazed over and his breathing labored.  </p><p><br/> “Sammy?”</p><p><br/> “Dean.  They—drug,” Sam said weakly.</p><p><br/> “They gave you a sedative,” he guessed.  “Okay, well, Ash might be able to take care of that.  She did something for me—”</p><p><br/> “Shouldn’t leave,” Sam interrupted.  “’M a monster.”</p><p><br/> Dean cocked his head to the side.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “What I—what I did to that…”  His eyes closed, and he slipped out of consciousness.  </p><p><br/> Dean shook his brother.  “Hey, no sleeping on the job.  We still have shit to do.  You need to get up.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyelids fluttered open; he saw Dean and his brows furrowed.  “Dean.  Shouldn’t be here.”</p><p><br/> “I know, dingus, I’m trying to leave.  Don’t make me carry your ass out of here, you’re a lot bigger than you used to be.”  He hauled on Sam’s arm, trying to get him to sit up.</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head.  “No.  You go.  What I did…Can’t f’give myself,” he said, his words slurring from the sedative’s effect.  </p><p><br/> Dean looked at his brother incredulously.  What was in the serum they gave him?  “Really, bitch?  All the shit you’ve done, the people you’ve hurt—the shit you did without your soul—and you’re going to draw the line at non-consensual sex?  That’s what’s really unforgivable?”  He grabbed Sam’s arm again, forcing him into a seated position.  <br/> Sam swatted at him, but his movement was so slow it was more of a tap than a smack.  “Y’ don’ unnerstand.  I…” his voice trailed off as his head drooped.  His eyes were still open, but he didn’t seem to be able to complete his own sentence.  </p><p><br/> Dean jumped as he heard the heavy breathing and telltale footfalls of a hellhound enter the room.  He couldn’t see her, but black blotches of levi blood floated in the air, indicating her presence.  Ash shifted into her human form, her eyes almost back to normal.  Dean tossed her the lab coat.</p><p><br/> “No!” Sam said suddenly, sitting up rigidly.  “Don’t let me near—I can’t—”</p><p><br/> Ash looked curiously from Sam to Dean, then back to Sam.  “It’s me, Sam.  I’m not going to hurt you.”</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head, snot dripping from his nose.  “No.  I—I’ll hurt you…”</p><p><br/> She gave Dean a questioning look.</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “He’s sedated, he’s just goin’ nuts.  I think he’s upset about fu—uh, what happened with the chick he was with,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t set his brother off even more.  </p><p><br/> Sam shook his head again, trying to back away from Dean.  “Don’ leave me with her,” he whined.  “Can’t trust me…Myself.”</p><p><br/> “Sammy, stop it!  We have to go, now.”  </p><p><br/> Ash stepped forward, pressing her fingers to Sam’s forehead.  He froze.  She felt his fear, anger, guilt, and shame rush over her, but she swept the feelings aside.  She focused her mind, pushing her own bloodlust down and pulling up a sense of peace and calm.  The feeling flowed through her and into Sam, and she felt him relax mentally.  Next, she needed to get him up and moving: She called the energy from the bloodlust forward and gave some of it to him, overpowering the sedative without being strong enough to send him into his own fit of rage.  She slumped back as the energy left her.</p><p><br/> “Sam?  You okay?”</p><p> Sam blinked, rubbing his forehead.  “Yeah…Yeah, I’m okay.”</p><p><br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> “Yes,” she said, bracing herself against the bed as she pulled herself back up to her feet.  Her eyes had completely stopped glowing.  </p><p><br/> “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Back on the main floor, Dean was surprised to see a familiar demon seated at one of the workstations.  “Crowley?”</p><p><br/> “Squirrel?” he replied, sounding surprised.  He shrugged.  “Well, I guess that saves me the trouble of having to find you.  And Moose…”  He tilted his head to the side and frowned.  “You look bloody awful.”</p><p><br/> “Sam’s fine,” Dean snapped.  “What are you doing here?”</p><p><br/> “Research,” he replied, tapping a flash-drive he’d inserted into the computer.  “Your job, I believe, if you’d ever get off your ass to do it.”</p><p><br/> Dean balled his fists.  “We’re here now, asshat.”</p><p><br/> Crowley leaned back in his chair and looked at Ash; she felt the tug on her mind that meant he was flipping through her memory.  “Thanks to Ash,” he said at last.  “You’d be monster chow if it wasn’t for my little abomination here.”  With a flick of his wrist, he brought Ash to his side, gripping her chin in one hand to get a better look at her eyes.  “Hmm.”  He released her and spun his chair around, reaching into a cardboard box and pulling out two color-coded vials.  “The leviathans only manufactured two serums: A sedative and a…Well, I’m not sure what the official term for it is, but it enhances aggression and libido.  If there was ever a really bad fanfic written about it, it would probably be called sex pollen or some equally irritating and non-descriptive name.”</p><p><br/> “How do you know what a fanfic is?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “You think dreamy-eyed girls in cheap trench-coats and flannel are the only ones who read your little gospel?  I like to know what you’ve been up to.  Search ‘supernatural books’ online and…Well, there’s quite the rabbit hole.  Anyhow, the question is,” he continued, tapping Ash on the forehead with the aggression serum, “how did it unlock in five seconds what I’d been trying to get you to do for weeks?”</p><p><br/> Crowley pocketed the vial and snapped his fingers, making the rest of the boxed serum vanish.  “Never know when that’s going to come in handy.”  He pulled the flash drive, pocketing that as well, and stood up.  He patted Ash on the head, ruffling his fingers through her hair.  “I better get going before they pull themselves back together.”  He smiled at Ash, then looked up at Dean, the smile fading.</p><p><br/> “You can have her back, if you promise to behave.”</p><p><br/> Dean huffed in annoyance.  “You know we won’t hurt her until she becomes a threat.  Cas says we need her just as much as you do.”  </p><p><br/> Suddenly Crowley was much closer to him.  “Oh, I’m not worried about that.  Hell knows she could stand to be toughened up a little.  Let’s just avoid a repeat of today’s performance, alright Squirrel?  Paws to yourself if you want any hope of saving the world.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s face colored as he glared back at Crowley, trying very hard not to look at Ash.  He opened his mouth to respond, desperately trying to think of a snappy comeback, but the best he could think of was ‘I was drugged.’  Thankfully, he was interrupted by Sam.</p><p><br/> “Dean.  We’ve got company.”</p><p><br/> A leviathan staggered down from the stairwell, still oozing black as it reattached its arm to its shoulder.  Crowley vanished.</p><p><br/> “Door.  Go,” Dean said, and Sam and Ash ran after him.  “Soon as we get out, you start hotwiring a car, Sam.  We’ll distract anything that comes through the door.”</p><p><br/> Once outside, they immediately hit a snag in their plan.  There was a large parking lot, half-full of cars, but every single one had the hood and windshield smashed in.<br/> “Um,” said Sam, staring at the destruction.</p><p><br/> “What the hell,” said Dean. </p><p><br/> “Funny meeting you boys here,” said a smartly dressed business man, pushing off from the side of the building.  “That was quite a little mess you made.  It won’t make a difference in the long run, but the paperwork will take ages to deal with.”  He stepped forward, his smile all teeth.  “I should really have a snack before I get started.”</p><p><br/> “Run,” suggested Dean.</p><p><br/> He and Sam turned on their heels and bolted; Ash shifted into a dragon and spread her wings, trying to look larger and more intimidating.  She snarled at the leviathan as four more came forward from amongst the damaged vehicles.  As the original leviathan charged at her, she heard Dean shout in surprise—they must be surrounded, then.  She blasted fire at her attacker, barely even slowing him down, and took off across the lot toward the brothers.  She leapt over and around busted cars, listening to the footfalls of the leviathans on her tail.  When she caught up to Sam and Dean, they were trying to dodge a pair of black-bloods, armed with bits of broken windshield glass.  She snapped at one of the goons, luring him away from the boys, and got into a full-on wrestling match with the thing before she was finally able to bite through its neck.  <br/> Ash pushed away from the corpse and felt a sting as a bullet pierced her hide.  She screeched and shrunk down to a wolf, running to catch up with her companions, who were also busy avoiding getting shot.  </p><p><br/> “We need a new plan!” Sam panted.</p><p><br/> “Okay, fine—you think of something!” Dean gasped back as they cleared the last of the cars and bolted across a row of warehouses.  </p><p><br/> The wolf caught up to them and slowed to an easy lope beside them.  She started to shift again, stumbled, and stopped in place.  Moments later, a brown and white horse trotted up beside the runners and whinnied.  Dean glanced over at her, looked back at the path in front of him, then back at Ash.</p><p><br/> “Oh, hell no.  I’ll take my chances with the biters.”</p><p><br/> “What’s wrong with horses?  They’re a lot faster than we are.  I bet she can outrun those levis behind us no problem, even if she’s carrying both of us.”</p><p><br/> “Only time I got on a horse was in eighth grade.”</p><p><br/> “For a girl?”</p><p><br/> “Of course for a girl, you don’t think I’d voluntarily get on one of those things for no reason!  It was an asshole, Sam,” Dean panted as they weaved down a narrow lane between buildings.  “It walked me into trees, bit me, reared up so I would fall off—twice—and tried to crush my leg against a fence.”  He paused his speech to duck at the sound of gunfire, turning to see how close the enemy was.  They were pretty damn close.  “And its dick was huge—the size of my freaking arm.”</p><p><br/> Sam laughed, which was odd given that they were fleeing for their lives.  “Well, I don’t think Ash will do any of those things.  And she doesn’t have a—”</p><p><br/> “My balls were so swollen and bruised,” Dean carried on.  “I had to sit funny all week.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, that’s what you were doing.  I remember that.”  Sam motioned to Ash and she skidded to a halt; he grabbed her mane in his fist and swung himself up and onto her back.  “You have to tilt your hips forward.”</p><p><br/> “How do you know about horse stuff?”</p><p><br/> “College.  Lots of girls in the equestrian club.”</p><p><br/> Dean made a pained face, and Sam wasn’t sure if he was debating whether or not to get on the horse, or if he was lamenting his own lack of college co-ed experiences.  As the leviathans closed in on them, though, there was no question that they needed to move.  </p><p><br/> “Come on.”  Sam leaned down as far as he could and extended his hand.  </p><p><br/> Dean looked from the leviathans back to the horse.  “Uh…How do I get up?”</p><p><br/> “You’re going to swing up behind me.  Let’s go.”</p><p><br/> Ash snorted as a bullet whizzed over Sam’s shoulder.  Dean sighed, giving in, and grabbed his brother’s arm, hauling himself onto her back.  </p><p><br/> “Now tuck your hips forward and squeeze your thighs together, like you’re using one of those old 80’s workout things.  And hold on!”</p><p>Ash took off, not waiting for Dean to figure out proper technique.  She wasn’t even sure how to keep them from falling off, but Sam seemed fairly confident about what he was doing.  </p><p><br/> “So you’ve—ow, dammit—done this a lot?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Well, I had a saddle and reins.  Never tried bareback.”</p><p><br/> “Wh—But that’s completely different!  Ow, Christ!”</p><p><br/> “She’s cantering right now.  You have to sit into it—move with her.”</p><p><br/> “You sound like a friggin’ country club snot,” Dean snarked as he bounced painfully on his ass.  </p><p><br/> “It’s…”  Sam saw the fence in front of them, but he wasn’t sure how to guide the horse without reins.  Ash’s head was turning in both directions, unsure of which way was best.  “Right!” he shouted, and Ash turned immediately.  “We keep going this direction, it should take us back to town.  These guys should back off soon.”</p><p><br/> One enterprising leviathan had found a Jeep in one of the warehouses and was now in hot pursuit.  </p><p><br/> “You were saying?” Dean sighed.</p><p><br/> “We can lose him.  We need to go faster.”  Sam dug his heels into the horse’s side and she broke into a gallop; Dean latched onto his brother like a baby koala to avoid bouncing right off her and into the path of the Jeep.  </p><p><br/> “You’re not moving with her, Dean.”</p><p><br/> “No shit.  Sorry I wasn’t there for Equestrian 101.  This isn’t an easy as you make it sound.”</p><p><br/> “Well just hang on a little longer.  See that rock wall?”</p><p><br/> Dean craned his head around Sam’s shoulder.  “Yeah?”</p><p><br/> “We’re gonna jump it.  They won’t be able to go over it, and we can lose ‘em before we get back on the road.”</p><p><br/> “Uh…No thank you.”</p><p><br/> “Just don’t let go.  Jumping is easier than galloping.”</p><p><br/> “That doesn’t seem…”</p><p><br/> “C’mon, Ash—jump!”</p><p><br/> Ash sailed over the short stone wall and went straight back to galloping, not slowing down until Sam finally yelled that they were in the clear.  They were on the outskirts of town, behind a gas station.  She slowed to a walk, and Dean slid off her back, keeping his stance exaggerated like a cartoon cowboy.</p><p><br/> “Everything hurts,” he whined.  “And not just my junk—my legs…I just used muscles I never knew existed.”</p><p><br/> Still on the horse, Sam chuckled.  “The hotel’s just a couple miles from here, I think.  If you want, I’ll go grab the car and meet you back here.”</p><p><br/> Dean slowly curled into the fetal position on the pavement.  “Yup.”  He chucked the keys in Sam’s general direction, missing, and Ash picked them up in her mouth to give to Sam.  “Go get ‘em, cowboy.”</p><p><br/> Sam patted Ash’s neck.  “You good?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Half an hour later, Sam pulled Baby up to the gas station, where Dean had already made a miraculous recovery and gotten snacks.  Sam had checked them out of their hotel, found Ash’s clothes for her, and discovered a ‘present’ Crowley had deposited in the back seat of the car: The cardboard box full of serum.  </p><p><br/> “So this stuff’s like your level-up juice, I guess,” Dean mused, holding one of the little packs in his hand.  He was stretched out in the passenger seat with his hips tilted forward and his legs as far apart as the car would allow; every time Sam hit a bump or pothole, he winced and cursed his brother.  </p><p><br/> “Level up?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, you know—mushrooms to Mario, spinach to Popeye.  It activates Kickass Beast Mode.”</p><p><br/> “I guess so.”</p><p><br/> “But why would it do that for you and not anyone else?” Sam asked. </p><p><br/> “Okay, here’s a question for you,” Dean said.  “Did you feel…Ah…Lusty…At all?”</p><p><br/> Ash took a moment to respond.  “Blood lust,” she said at last.</p><p><br/> “You didn’t feel like you had to f—” Dean caught a nasty look from Sam and adjusted his phrasing, “—screw someone, or you’d go insane?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “No.  I felt…Powerful.  Like I could do whatever I wanted.  And…I wanted to kill.  I needed to kill.  But there was a lot of stuff that needed to be killed—well, hurt, I guess—so it all worked out.”</p><p><br/> “You didn’t try to kill me,” Dean pointed out.</p><p><br/> Ash looked at him thoughtfully.  “You didn’t need to be killed.”</p><p><br/> “So you had control over it?  You could differentiate?”</p><p><br/> She closed her eyes, thinking back to the feeling.  “I guess so.  I think…I don’t know how to describe it.  You were just another body, something I could kill, so I wanted to kill you.  But I knew you, I still recognized you, and I knew I didn’t need to kill you.  It was the same with the other humans: They smelled different, they smelled like fear and sweat and I knew they weren’t threats.  So…I still wanted to kill them, but it was okay that I didn’t.”</p><p><br/> “Do you…Do you think it works like that for everybody?” Sam asked, his voice unnaturally high.  “What if I could have stopped—what if I did…That…Because I wanted to?  If I just wasn’t strong enough—”</p><p><br/> “Stop it, Sam,” Dean growled.  “You were drugged.  You didn’t have a choice—nothing you did back there was your fault.  The serum works completely different on Ash—she’s not human.  That’s why she was able to control it like she did.”</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head.  “No.  No, you weren’t inside my head.  I wanted to—to fuck her.  She was so doped up she could barely move, but she was crying, and she begged me not to.  She was terrified.  And I—I—”  His voice cracked and he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve.  “I will never forgive myself…”</p><p><br/> “Look—you’re as much a victim as she is,” Dean said, too exhausted to keep arguing but refusing to let Sammy carry on with his bullshit about being the bad guy.  “The leviathans are the enemy.  You’re the good guy.” </p><p><br/> Sam glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye.  “Maybe you can brush it off, maybe it’s no big deal to you, but I—”</p><p><br/> “Whoa, whoa, I’m not sayin’ you have to just brush it off—forced sex is forced sex, and you’re allowed to feel shitty about it.  But you need to feel shitty about what they did to you, not what you did to her.  Cause that wasn’t you, that was them.”</p><p><br/> Sam sniffled.  “So you…You don’t feel guilty about it at all?”</p><p><br/> Dean blinked.  “Why would I feel guilty?”</p><p><br/> “Didn’t…Didn’t they put you in a room with someone?  You didn’t…Didn’t rape a girl?”</p><p><br/> “No.  I mean, I tried.  I told you, though—Ash was there.  She did…Something…To my head, and it made me chill out enough to focus.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.”  Sam seemed disappointed that he was the only ‘rapist’ in the car now.  </p><p><br/> On the other hand, he was relieved that Dean hadn’t had to go through what he’d just gone through, and that Ash didn’t appear to be angry with him for trying to have sex with her.  Things would probably be awkward for a bit anyway, since he’d…Well, Sam wasn’t sure how far his brother had gotten, but this didn’t seem like the time to ask.  He knew he’d at least seen Ash laid out naked, since his girl was naked—though, come to think of it, Ash was naked a lot, so that wasn’t necessarily a big deal.  It was the context in which she was naked, maybe, that made this time worse: She would have been sedated, laid out on display on the bed, barely able to raise her head; and Dean would have been randy enough to fuck anything, up to and including livestock, which would have completely overridden his “no monsters” rule about sexual partners.  Sam shuddered at the thought of his brother ogling the creature they were supposed to be taking care of as if she was a slice of meat (or piece of pie, in Dean’s case), maybe even making lewd comments as he approached her—how could Ash move past that like nothing had happened?  He’d have to talk to her later, without Dean, and ask how she was doing.  Dean would never do it—he was so allergic to feelings, sometimes Sam could just punch him in the throat.  </p><p><br/> Dean’s phone rang, snapping Sam back to the present.  </p><p><br/> “Hello?  Hey Garth.  Yeah, hold on—I’m putting you on speaker.”</p><p><br/> “Hi Sam!  I got a case out in Oskaloosa, Iowa, I was hoping you could give me a hand with.”</p><p><br/> “Sorry, man, you cut out—what’s the town?”</p><p><br/> “Oskaloosa.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, you didn’t cut out, that’s just gibberish.”</p><p><br/> “It’s a town,” Garth huffed, sounding annoyed.  “Something’s been killing off hunters—not our kind of hunters, but like…The regular kind, that hunts deer and stuff.  Rips their throats out but doesn’t do anything else to ‘em—if it was a natural predator, like the coyotes they have in the area, it would at least eat part of them.  There aren’t even other wounds on the bodies—no claw marks, no other bites.  Just the neck.  It’s definitely something in our wheelhouse, but…Well, I’ve been here almost a week now and haven’t come up with any leads.  All I can figure is it’s some nature spirit that somebody pissed off, but I can’t find any lore, and I don’t even know what the damn thing looks like.” </p><p> “Alright, we’ll check it out.”</p><p>Garth hung up, and the boys talked about what to do with Ash regarding the other hunter.  Sam felt that they could trust Garth with what she was, but Dean wasn’t so sure—he thought it would be better to either hide her from him or lie, which was what he usually did with everybody anyway.  </p><p><br/> “Garth is our friend,” Sam sighed.  </p><p><br/> “We don’t have friends, Sammy.  And if we did, I’d lie to them, too.  I lie to you all the time, why should Garth be any different?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5: That Rabbit's Dynamite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something is hunting game-hunters (not Supernatural hunters for once).  The boys team up with Garth (and Ash) to take it down.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/> It was just starting to snow as they pulled up to the cheap motel where Garth had set up camp.  Sam met with Garth while Dean got them their own room, still walking like a bow-legged cowboy.  </p><p><br/> “This is Ash,” Sam explained, having won the argument with his brother.  “She’s a shape-shifting demon hybrid—it’s a long story—but she’s on our side.  She doesn’t kill humans, but she does a great job of killing monsters.  She’s been hanging out with us for a little while, and she’s been pretty helpful.”</p><p><br/> Garth looked concerned for just a second, then was back to being all smiles and cheer.  “Well, if the Winchesters haven’t put you down, you must be pretty damn great.”  He shook her hand, and that was the end of it; Garth’s faith in Sam and Dean evidently extended to any choice in their companions as well.  </p><p><br/> Dean hobbled inside, trying and failing to avoid one of Garth’s enthusiastic hugs; once the over-eager hunter had settled back into his chair, Dean leaned against a wall, trying to give his undercarriage a break from sitting.</p><p><br/> “You okay, Dean?”</p><p><br/> “He’s just being a baby,” Sam said, happy that for once Dean could be labeled the wuss and not him.  “He’s still sore from riding Ash.”</p><p><br/> Garth’s eyebrows raised so high, they threatened to leave his face entirely.  </p><p><br/> “Christ, Sam!  Phrasing!” Dean snapped, glaring at his brother.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ash cover her mouth with the back of her hand, and he could have sworn he heard a tiny snort of laughter.</p><p><br/> “A horse,” Sam snapped back.  “She was a horse.  We had to get away from a group of leviathans, and it was faster than running.”</p><p><br/> “So, hunters dying.  What’s the plan?” Dean grumbled, trying to steer them back on track.</p><p><br/> “Right.  Well, first death was five days ago…”</p><p><br/> Garth rattled off everything he knew about the case: Seven hunters dead over a course of five days, all killed out in the woods in various locations.  Three of them had been buddies all on the same hunt, killed all at once; the remaining four had been two sets of partners.  There were no witnesses.</p><p> <br/> “I’ve been all over these woods,” Garth said.  “Nothing tried to attack me, nothing looked out of the ordinary.”</p><p><br/> “You shoot anything?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “No; I told you, I didn’t see anything.”</p><p><br/> “No, I mean…This thing, or things, it kills hunters.  So maybe you have to hunt something to draw its attention.  Shoot a deer, or a bird, I don’t know.”</p><p><br/> Garth turned slightly pink, embarrassed that he’d missed something that could be crucial to his success.  “Right.  So…Let’s go hunting.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Unsure of what they’d be dealing with, the hunters packed every type of weapon they could think of into Garth’s pickup and headed out to the woods.  Garth had plenty of hunter orange on hand, which felt odd to wear because while it would protect them from getting shot by other hunters, it may very well draw in the beast who was killing people.  There would be no element of surprise with this thing, whatever it was; all they could hope was that one of their specialized weapons would work on it before it ripped all their throats out.  </p><p><br/> It was almost noon by the time Garth parked on the edge of a well-worn hunting trail.  About an inch of fresh snow covered the path, and more snow was still falling.  The three men shouldered bags of supplies, and Ash shifted into a chocolate lab, keeping with the hunting façade.  And then they walked—a lot.  When they’d gotten sick of walking, they walked some more, until at long last Sam spotted a seat someone had installed halfway up a tree.  </p><p><br/> “Who wants to freeze their ass off up there?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “I’ll do it,” said Garth.  “I don’t mind the cold.”  He passed out walkie talkies, as there was no cell reception this far out, and the group split: Garth shimmied up the tree, Dean headed west, and Sam and Ash headed east.  Unfortunately, they were much better at hunting the supernatural than they were at hunting wildlife.  Several hours into nightfall and several inches of snow later, no one had come close to shooting anything, and there was no sign of a bloodthirsty killer who wanted to rip out their throats.  <br/> Cold, tired, and dejected, they regrouped and made their way back toward the truck.</p><p><br/> “Most hunters go out before dawn,” Sam said.  “We should head out early tomorrow, have better luck.  Maybe Ash can go out as a fox or rabbit.”</p><p><br/> “We’ll have to give her something orange so we don’t accidentally try to shoot her,” Dean pointed out.</p><p><br/> “I have an old hat with a hole burned through the top,” Garth said.  “We can tear it a little more and slip it over her head like one of those round scarves.  She’d be swimming in it as a rabbit, but it might fit a fox ok.”</p><p><br/> A scream pierced the dark forest, stopping the group in its tracks.  It was coming from the direction they were heading: The trailhead parking spot.  The hunters glanced at each other briefly and ran, their head lamps bobbing erratically in the dark.  Ash quickly took the lead, unburdened with a bag or limited by two legs.  It didn’t take her long to reach the scene of the crime: Just as the forest opened onto the road, a human body lay splayed out awkwardly on the snow.  It was definitely a hunter, with the orange vest and rifle.  Three dead rabbits lay nearby—he must have dropped them when he was attacked.  His throat was torn open, warm blood bubbling down his neck and pooling in the snow.  Ash listened for a heartbeat, but he was already dead.  </p><p><br/> This thing moves fast, she thought as she sniffed around the body for any hint of what had happened.  Judging by the way the snow was scuffed around him, the hunter had thrashed or ran around as he was attacked, obscuring any tracks that might have given away the shape of his attacker.  Ash could smell gasoline from the trucks across the street, the smell of beer and blood on the hunter, and the dead rabbits: Everything else was just background scent, like the trees and the snow and all the little wisps of bird and deer and fox that had crossed through since the snow started falling.  There were boot prints in the fresh snow, and lots of squirrel prints; something that looked like rabbit; and the little score marks indicating a bird had landed and taken off.  There were no bloody footprints, no “killer went this way” neon sign pointing to a quick solution.  <br/> As the boys caught up to her, Ash moved away from the body in a wide circle, trying to pick up the scent of the most recent thing that had passed through, but the snow made everything more faint, almost blurry.  </p><p><br/> “Damn,” Dean said.  “Well, he was luckier than us when it came to hunting, but I guess his luck ran out…”</p><p><br/> “I think Ash has something,” Sam said, pointing his light at the lab.  </p><p><br/> She had found more of the man’s blood nearby—just a smear of it on the snow, but it was definitely left by whatever had attacked him.  With the blood and snow and everything else that had been here, she couldn’t smell what had left the evidence—whatever it was, it must smell like a man, rabbit, deer, squirrel, fox, bird, or fir tree.  Or, it didn’t smell like anything at all, which was always a possibility with this sort of thing.  When the boys moved to examine the blood she’d found, she went farther out, trying to find more; a few yards away, there was barely more than a drop.  The killer was heading back into the woods, but there were so many animal tracks here that it would be impossible to know which ones to follow.  </p><p><br/> Garth called the police to notify them of the body, and they piled back into his truck to head home for the day.  </p><p><br/> “It’s not humanoid,” Ash said as she struggled into her clothes in the tiny back seat.  “Or if it is, it’s found a way to not leave footprints.  There were all kinds of animal tracks leading away from him, but the human prints only go from the side of the road onto the trail.  The blood was leading away to the side, where no people had gone.  And the way it was blotted on the snow, it looked like it had been scraped off fur.”</p><p><br/> “So we’re almost definitely dealing with an animal,” Dean mused.</p><p><br/> “Or a shifter,” Garth pointed out.</p><p><br/> “Right.  Or a shifter.  Ugh…Alright, how ‘bout this: When we get home, Garth and I pass out so we can get up early tomorrow and go back to hunting.  Sam, you stay up and do what you do best.”</p><p><br/> “Research,” Sam sighed.</p><p><br/> “If you find anything, you fill us in in the morning.  Then you snooze while we head out, and hopefully we’re not dead by the time you wake up.”</p><p><br/> “Ugh.  Fine.  It’s gonna take me that long just to get feeling back in my toes, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p> They grabbed a quick dinner and parted ways with Garth, though their own motel room was just a few doors away from his.  Sam started chugging coffee, settling down at the table with his laptop.  Dean called first dibs on a hot shower since he needed to get some sleep.</p><p><br/> “My toes are purple!” he called through the bathroom door.  “Is that normal?”</p><p><br/> “Purple is fine.  White is less fine,” Sam shouted back, peeling his own shoes and socks off to see what kind of shape he was in.  His toes were purple as well.  In a lower voice, loud enough for Ash to hear but not Dean, he said: “You are gonna freeze tomorrow.”  He chuckled.  “I guess research isn’t so bad.”</p><p><br/> Ash changed back into a dog and curled up under the table; Sam wedged his feet under her to warm them.  Dean emerged from his shower looking like a cooked lobster.</p><p><br/> “Did you at least save me some hot water?”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “It’s a hotel, they’ve got plenty.”  He glanced under the table.  “Oh, you got your own foot warmer?  You don’t mind if I steal her while you’re in the shower?  I swear my toes are still fricking cold.”  He stole the comforter off Sam’s bed and added it to his own, determined to feel warmth while he still could.  He slid under all the blankets and motioned for Ash to hop up on the bed.</p><p><br/> The dog got out from under the table, but Sam blocked her path before she could join Dean.</p><p> <br/> “You sure that’s such a good idea?”</p><p><br/> Dean looked blank.  “What?  You’re the only one that gets to use her as a portable heater?”</p><p><br/> Sam ran a hand through his hair.  “I just think that, after what happened today—last night—whenever that was, maybe you should give her some space.”</p><p><br/> “Excuse me?  First of all, nothing ‘happened,’ and second, we were all drugged.  Just because you feel guilty about what you did—which was not your fault, by the way—doesn’t mean I have to.”</p><p><br/> “Of course I feel guilty!” Sam snapped.  </p><p><br/> Ash carefully backed up until she was under the table again, not wanting to get between one of the brothers’ arguments.  </p><p><br/> “What I did—you’d have to be soulless not to be affected by that.  No, I take that back—I did a lot of bad shit when I lost my soul, but I never did that.”  He shook his head.  “I…Look, I get it—you didn’t have the same experience I had.  You didn’t…”  He looked down at his feet and coughed.  “Alright, maybe I am projecting on you a little.  I just…I can’t get over it.  You can say it was the drugs all you want, but I know I did that to her.  Nothing is going to change that.”</p><p><br/> As he replayed the scene in his head, unsure of what else to say to Dean, Ash could feel his thoughts like shouts in her mind: He’d felt this unbelievable need, needing sexual release like a drowning person needs to breathe, and the girl was barely able to move or speak, almost like a doll; almost like she wasn’t even real.  And he took her, but even as he obeyed the insatiable fire of lust coursing through his veins, he could also see the tears rolling down her cheeks, hear her cry out in pain and beg him to stop; he knew that what he was doing was wrong, and yet he couldn’t stop himself, no more than he could hold his breath for an hour, but he felt that he should have been able to stop, that he was a monster for what he did.  </p><p><br/> “Did you ever ask Ash how she was doing after all that?  We haven’t seen her in almost a month, and this is her welcome back?  I mean, she may not even be one of the good guys, but we are.  We should be better than that.”</p><p><br/> Ash slipped into the bathroom to shift and throw on some clothes, because Sam evidently wasn’t going to shut up until they dealt with shit.</p><p> <br/> “I’m fine, Sam,” she said, trying to position herself between the two of them as a sort of buffer.  Hiding under the table would have to wait till their next fight.  “I’m just a little…Weird…From the serum.  And my ‘welcome back?’  It’s about what I’d expect from you guys.”  She laughed.  “Every day I don’t die when I’m with you is a miracle, really.  Have you seen your track record?”</p><p><br/> “Crowley exaggerates,” Sam growled.  </p><p><br/> “I…No offense.  I only meant…If one of you isn’t trying to kill me, there’s a long line of monsters waiting out the door.”</p><p><br/> “We’re not going to kill you,” Dean said, relaxing as his brother’s tirade wound down.  “Well, we would, but only if you—”</p><p><br/> “Endanger a human,” Ash finished.  “I know.  And Sam, I know Dean doesn’t want to sleep with me.  I’m what you kill.  Hell, I’m related to Crowley.  It was just the leviathan drugs.”  </p><p><br/> Dean gave Sam a Look that said, See?  She knows what I’m talking about.</p><p><br/> Ash rolled her eyes.  “Look, Crowley sent me here to help you, not to become your friend.  I don’t expect you guys to like me any more than you like him.”</p><p><br/> Sam coughed.  “I like you.  Crowley can rot in Hell, but you’re alright.  I genuinely hope I won’t have to kill you someday.”</p><p><br/> Dean picked his head up.  “Dibs on not killing her!”</p><p><br/> “What?!  You can’t call ‘dibs’ on not killing someone!” Sam said incredulously.</p><p><br/> “I just did.  You’re in charge of killing her when she turns on us.”</p><p><br/> Sam huffed.  “If she turns on us—”</p><p><br/> “No one is killing anyone tonight,” Ash snapped.  “I’m not betraying anyone.  I’m just going to sleep.”</p><p><br/> She retreated to the bathroom again, shifting into a German Shepard, and hopped onto Dean’s bed, lying down against his feet.  Sam took the opportunity to thaw his own feet (and everything else) with a hot shower.  By the time he was done, Ash was already asleep.</p><p><br/> Sam stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed.  “You don’t even like dogs.”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “If all they did was curl up at your feet, they wouldn’t be so bad.  This is nice.”</p><p><br/> “She’s really out cold, isn’t she?” </p><p><br/> “I think so.  That Nephilim stuff she pulled last n—this morning must’ve finally caught up to her.”</p><p><br/> Sam couldn’t resist petting the top of her head and smooshing her ears together.  “I, uh…I didn’t catch most of that.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, it was classic angel and demon stuff: throwing guys across the room without touching them, freezing them in place…She even ripped one guy’s head off while she had him pinned to a wall.”</p><p><br/> “She ripped…Without touching him, you mean?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.”</p><p><br/> Sam paled.  “Do you think this was a one-time thing, or do you think the serum somehow…I don’t know…’Awakened’ something in her, and she’ll be able to do that from now on?  Crowley controls her.  He doesn’t need any more power.”</p><p><br/> Dean groaned.  He didn’t want to talk about this right now—he had to wake up in a couple hours to hunt something by getting it to hunt him.  “She can’t kill anyone, remember?  Yeah, she can still do some damage, but—”</p><p><br/> “She’s not supposed to kill anyone,” Sam said.  “But does she even have control over it when she’s like that?  We weren’t in control.”</p><p><br/> “She recognized me.  Talked to me.  I think she might’ve been having a rough time with it, but she did okay.  She’ll get the hang of it.”</p><p><br/> “And if she doesn’t?”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “We put her down.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash jolted awake and fell off the foot of the bed.  She landed on her side with a soft thump and staggered to her paws, shaking her head to clear her sleep-addled haze.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?” Dean yawned, sitting up.  “You okay?”</p><p><br/> The fur raised all along her back, and she remembered why she’d woken so suddenly.  Dean.  She glanced over at the table, where Sam had fallen asleep mid-research project.  Ash nodded that she was fine, but she couldn’t shake the images that flashed across her mind.</p><p><br/> It was back when Dean had gone demonic and black-eyed.  He’d left Crowley—the King of Hell was no fun anymore.  Crowley wanted to rule hell, take care of it like some goody-two-shoes pencil-pusher; he was done howling at the moon, ready to get back to business.  Because, as he kept reminding Dean, he was a businessman.  But Dean wasn’t done partying—why stop, ever?  He could drink all day and night (though he didn’t really get drunk anymore, he noticed), fuck all the hot girls he wanted, and if anyone got in his way, he felt no remorse over hurting or killing them.  </p><p><br/> Still, he’d had a bit of a toddler-level tantrum when Crowley left.  Sure, he’d killed the wrong person, and he’d threatened to kill Crowley, but how dare he actually leave Dean?  Though he’d gotten to be a spoil-sport toward the end, Crowley had proven invaluable in procuring the best booze and the best girls.  Dean wasn’t sure how to go about things on his own, apart from just driving from one dive bar to the next.  But it was kind of boring without someone next to him to harass.  </p><p><br/> He’d found people to harass, but they were all so boring—all they ever did was scream and cry about being kidnapped or tortured.  Alone and pissed off at everything and everyone, but especially Crowley (it was his fault he was a demon; the guy should at least be helping him out), Dean found his way into another dive bar.  He immediately noticed a young black-haired woman, leaning over the pool table, wearing a dress that ended just below her ass cheeks and more makeup on her face than was necessary by any standard.  She might as well have hung a neon sign that said “fuck me” across her extremely ample bosom.  Dean bought her a drink and approached her with a predatory look in his eye, already decided in his mind that he’d be screwing her later.  </p><p><br/> After a game of pool and a few more drinks, Dean had suggested that she come back to his hotel.  When she’d declined his offer, he didn’t know what to think—he rarely got shot down even before he became a demon, he’d forgotten it was even a possibility.  But he was Dean—he was a demon, he had the mark of Cain and the First Blade.  How dare anyone turn him down?  </p><p><br/> He’d thought about stabbing her with a broken pool cue, but then he would have had to kill everyone else, and right now he just wasn’t in the mood.  Frankly, it was a lot of effort, and he wouldn’t be getting anything in return.  So instead, he left the bar—but he didn’t go far.  He waited around the corner, until the black-haired slut came out.  She was looking down at her phone, not even paying attention; overpowering her and throwing her into the back of the Impala was easy.  He didn’t even have to tie her up—his demonic power held her in place.  </p><p><br/> Back in his room, he spent all of ten seconds listening to her beg and plead and cry; then he grew bored of listening to her and used his power to silence her.  </p><p><br/> “You were begging for it in that dress,” Dean growled.  “And yet you turn me down?  Do I not live up to your rigorous standard of ‘anything with a dick’, because I know you’re not the kind of slut that picks and chooses.  I got news for you, bitch: Nobody says no to me.”  With a snap of his fingers, the woman was naked, struggling against her invisible bonds and choking down silent pleas and threats.  He fucked her hard, putting all of his anger and frustration into each thrust of his hips.  When he was finished, he considered slitting her throat, but realized she would be more miserable if he left her alive; so he dumped her back outside the bar where he’d found her, and carried on to the next little town.  </p><p><br/> Demon Dean learned something from that little tryst: It felt damn good to take.  Consensual sex was fun, sure, but what he’d had with the black-haired slut was on a whole new level: He felt powerful, more powerful and in control than he’d felt since he first got the Mark.  Over the next few weeks, he targeted more women, getting creative as he mixed torture with sexual gratification.  And he’d felt more powerful each time.  </p><p><br/> <br/> Ash could smell guilt in Dean’s sweat, and he was drenched in it.  She glanced at the little digital clock on the nightstand: 4:00 am.  They were supposed to get up in half an hour; there was no point in going back to sleep.  She grabbed her clothes and changed in the bathroom, then returned to sit at the foot of Dean’s bed again.  <br/> “Bad dream?” Dean asked with a yawn.  He wondered if Nephilim dreamed like normal humans.</p><p><br/> Ash picked at invisible lint on the blanket.  “Something like that.”  She wasn’t sure if she should tell him what she’d seen or not—on one hand, he should know that he was broadcasting his thoughts into her head, but on the other hand, it wasn’t something she should have seen in the first place, and things would be altogether less awkward if she just kept her mouth shut.  </p><p><br/> “Demon stuff?”</p><p><br/> Her head snapped up to look at him.  He couldn’t read her mind, could he?  “Yeah.  Demon stuff.”  She cleared her throat.  “You okay?”</p><p><br/> Dean’s face settled into its traditional deadpan ‘my whole life is hell but I’m going to tell you it couldn’t be better’ look.  “I’m fine.  Just…Thinking about the case.”</p><p><br/> “Right.”</p><p><br/> Ash glanced over at Sam, who was still fast asleep, though she didn’t see how anyone could stay asleep slumped over the table like that.  She cleared her throat, not sure how to broach the subject.  “When you’re really focused on a thought, especially if it’s something that upsets you, you sort of…Think it really loud.  Loud enough that I can hear it in my sleep.”</p><p><br/> Dean leaned back against the headboard, the color draining from his face.  He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Ash, so he fixed his gaze to a point about three inches above her head.  </p><p><br/> “What did you…’Hear’?”</p><p><br/> Ash picked at a loose thread on the blanket.  “You felt guilty because of what you did when you were a demon.”  She started to pull at the thread, seeing if she could rip it out.  “Does Sam know?”</p><p><br/> He shook his head.  “He knows about the stuff I did with Crowley.  General debauchery, howling at the moon crap.  People got hurt, but I was no Jeffrey Dahmer.  Crowley…He sorta kept me under control, I guess.  Huh.  Never woulda seen that coming.  But I couldn’t tell Sammy about…About everything I did once I was on my own.  I couldn’t tell him about the girls—I can’t.  He’d never look at me the same again.”</p><p><br/> She glanced over at Sam again.  “But you were a demon.  You were a demon without Hell to keep you under control—you could have been worse, really.”</p><p><br/> Dean was silent for a moment, trying to imagine how it could have been worse.  He could have murdered and tortured more people.  He could have tried to start a nuclear war.  He could have succeeded in killing Sammy.  </p><p><br/> “You…Aren’t bothered by it.  By what I did when I was on my own.”  It was more of a question than a statement.</p><p><br/> Ash tilted her head to the side, finally looking him in the eye, but he turned his head to the side.  “Should I be?”  She shrugged.  “You’re not a demon anymore; I can see your soul.  If you were a demon, I could kill you.  As far as judging you for what you did when you weren’t human—I don’t judge Crowley for anything he does.”</p><p><br/> “Huh.”  If a human had found out what he’d done, they would have said he was unforgivable.  He hadn’t forgiven himself; how could anyone else?  Hell, he hadn’t even told Castiel, though he suspected the angel knew most of his demonic crimes anyway.  And even though she was a monster, even though she was technically the ‘enemy,’ it was nice to not be judged by someone.  “Even though I—”</p><p><br/> His alarm went off, interrupting him.  Ash looked relieved that they had an excuse to end their conversation.  Dean yawned and kicked back the covers, reluctantly rolling out of bed.  “Ugh.  Gotta get Sam up, he wasn’t supposed to be asleep anyway.  Hope he found something useful before he passed out.”  He crept over to his brother and slammed a book down on the table, making him jump.</p><p><br/> “Woodland spirit!” Sam yelped, jerking awake.  He blinked, then glared at Dean.  “What time is it?”</p><p><br/> “Just after four.  Garth’ll be here in a minute.  You find anything?”</p><p><br/> “Uh, yeah, I think so,” said Sam, yawning and brushing his hair out of his eyes.  He woke up his laptop and turned the screen so Dean could see it.  “We could have a woodland spirit on our hands.  They manifest as a forest animal, like a deer or squirrel.  They’re like…Nature guardians.”</p><p><br/> “Like gods?”</p><p><br/> “No, not that powerful.  There’s not a whole lot in the lore, but they were regarded as…I don’t know what you’d call them today.  Demi-gods, I guess?”  He leaned back in his chair, trying to get his brain to wake up.  “They protect the forest.  But without seeing it, we can’t confirm that’s what it is.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, let’s assume that’s what we’re dealing with.  How do we gank this killer squirrel?”</p><p><br/> “It’ll be tied to an object, like a rock or a tree.  Find the object and destroy it, and you banish the spirit back to…Wherever it’s from.”</p><p><br/> “A rock.  How are we supposed to destroy a rock?”</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “Crush it?”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Great.  Let’s—”</p><p><br/> He jumped as his cellphone beeped, and a quick glance showed Garth had texted him that he was out front heating up his truck.  </p><p><br/> “This is going to be the scavenger hunt from Hell,” Dean grumbled, getting dressed as warmly as he could.  “Find a squirrel in the woods.  Or a deer, or maybe a skunk.  Now find a stick.  A special stick.  In a forest full of sticks.  What could go wrong?”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> There were already two trucks at the trailhead by the time Garth pulled his old pickup over.  Before they’d even made it out of the cab, another truck pulled up next to them.<br/> “Mornin’, boys!” a middle-aged man dressed in flannel and orange called, waving enthusiastically.  He reminded Dean of Bobby, if Bobby had smoked too much and lost many of his teeth.  </p><p><br/> “Morning,” replied Garth, equally cheerful though too tired to be quite as exuberant.  “We weren’t expecting so many cars out here.  Is there something going on?”</p><p><br/> “Thought you woulda known, being out here yourself,” the man said, grabbing his own sack of supplies from the backseat.  “There was a hunter’s breakfast yesterday, guess you missed it.  We decided it was time to take down whatever’s been huntin’ us hunters, so we’re all goin’ after it today.”</p><p><br/> Dean paused halfway through arming himself.  “What?  You’re all going out, toward the thing that’s been killing everyone?”</p><p><br/> The hunter gave him a jack-o-lantern smile.  “Isn’t that what you folks are doin’?”</p><p><br/> “Well yeah, but we’re…”</p><p><br/> “Hunters?” the hunter replied.  “Yeah.  Join the club.”  He shouldered his bag and shut the truck door, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm.  “I’ve been huntin’ longer than you boys’ve been alive.  Anyone ought to be worried, it’s the two of you.”  He glanced down at Ash.  “That’s a nice-lookin’ lab you got there, but if you get attacked by wolves out here, you’re gonna wish you had somethin’ with a little more bite, know what I’m sayin’?”</p><p><br/> Dean patted the chocolate lab’s head.  “Oh, she’s got more bite than you might think.”</p><p><br/> Yet another pickup pulled up.  Dean wondered how the hunters planned on sneaking up on anything if there were so many of them running around.  As if he could see the question on his face, the Bobby-like hunter pulled up a map of the area on his phone.  </p><p><br/> “Everyone’s got their zone, see?  Keeps us out of each other’s hair.  Two hunters at each point, and we cover the whole forest, more or less.  I’m meetin’ Tom out here,” he said, pointing to a random-looking spot to the northeast.  “Ben’s just pulled up; he’s covering this southwest corner with Jim.  We could use another set of eyes right around here.”  He pointed just left of center on the map, where a tiny squiggle ran across the screen.  “You head north, you’ll come to a stream.  Follow it upriver about a quarter mile and you’ll come to a real big boulder.  That’s your zone if you want it.”</p><p><br/> “Sounds good to me,” Garth said.  “Hey—you guys usin’ walkies?”</p><p><br/> The hunter slid a little yellow walkie talkie forward on his belt.  “Yep.  All tuned to channel 2.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Out on their own, Dean addressed Ash: “You need to be careful.  You’re gonna have more eyes on you than we thought, and lots of people aiming guns at you.  They won’t have silver bullets, but they’ll still sting.”</p><p><br/> Ash took off, shifting into an owl; it would still be dark for another hour at least, so this form would be more useful than a hawk or falcon.  She flapped around the forest for the better part of two hours, spotting other hunters but nothing out of the ordinary.  It wasn’t until the sun began to rise that she finally found some action: A man screamed, then was quickly silenced.  Gunshots followed.</p><p><br/> She changed course, honing in on the origin of the scream.  She managed to arrive just as the second hunter’s throat was being ripped out—a little white rabbit clung to his jugular, razor-sharp teeth gnawing away at him.  He dropped to the ground, blood trickling onto the snow, and the rabbit hopped off him.  Ash landed nearby, turning into a wolf, and growled at the killer bunny.  </p><p><br/> It turned to face her, the fur on its chin matted dark red with blood.  </p><p><br/> You’re not what I expected, Ash admitted.  But it does explain how the bites are so small and precise.</p><p> <br/> The rabbit’s nose twitched, its red eyes gleaming in the dawn light.  Help me, it said.</p><p><br/> The wolf took a step back.  Of all the things for a demonic rabbit to say, ‘help me’ hadn’t made her top ten guesses.  </p><p><br/> You need help?  Killing people?</p><p><br/> I need you to free me.  </p><p><br/> Ash cocked her head.  You’re a woodland spirit.  How are you not free?</p><p><br/> I have been trapped in this physical form by human witchcraft.  I must remain here and kill hunters; I can’t leave without the permission of the ones who trapped me.  But you can release me—a river stone binds me to this earthly body.  Find and break it, and I can return to my natural state.</p><p><br/> So you…You don’t want to kill them?</p><p><br/> I have no quarrel with the humans.  I must protect the forest.  What they do here…The rabbit moved its shoulders in what Ash swore was a shrug.  Humans hunt; coyotes hunt; foxes hunt; all predators hunt.  They keep nature in balance.  </p><p><br/> Do you know where this river stone is?</p><p><br/> In a house not far from here.  I can’t see the exact location, but it’s in the town somewhere.  It’s a smooth oval stone, dark gray with black flecks, about as wide as your paw.  </p><p><br/> All the hunters from the town have come out here to find you and kill you.</p><p><br/> Then you should hurry, before I kill them all.  I can’t stop or control what I’ve been bound to do.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean rested his head against a tree, fighting sleep.  Garth, he was fairly certain, had already dozed off while leaning against his own tree.  His chin was tucked to his chest and he was snoring gently, though he’d managed to remain upright.  This sort of hunting was turning out to be incredibly boring, and if it wasn’t so damn cold Dean would be in dreamland, too.  </p><p><br/> He jumped at the sound of crunching snow behind him and turned to see a chocolate lab running toward him.  She barked, waking Garth, and the tired hunter nearly toppled over as he startled awake.  </p><p><br/> “Ash!  Did you find something?”</p><p><br/> She skidded to a halt a few trees away, then ducked behind the largest one and shifted into a human.  “I talked to it—the spirit.  Holy crap, it’s cold!” she hissed, trying to keep both feet from touching the snow and failing.  “It’s been…Conjured.  By witchcraft.  We need to get to the town and find the river stone that’s binding it here.”</p><p><br/> “A rock?  We need to find a goddamn rock?” Dean growled.  “Do you have any idea how hard it’s gonna be to find one stupid rock in—”</p><p><br/> “It’s in a house.  So all we have to do is find out who would know witchcraft, or who wants to kill hunters, and we find the right one.”  Ash shivered.  “I’m changing back now.  It’s freaking cold.”</p><p><br/> Moments later, the dog walked out from behind the tree.  </p><p><br/> “Okay.  Witch hunt.  We’re on it,” Garth said.</p><p><br/> “Finally, something normal,” Dean sighed.</p><p> </p><p> Sam sounded groggy on the phone, but Dean wasn’t too sorry he’d woken him up.</p><p> <br/> “Alright, I’ll start asking around,” Sam mumbled.  “I’m looking for a vegan hippie witch, how many of those can there be in a town this size?”</p><p><br/> “You’d hope, right?  Oh, and if you find anything before we get back: It’s a smooth, dark gray rock with black flecks, about the size of a dog’s foot.  You just have to smash it, so bring a hammer.” He hung up and glanced into the small back seat, where the dog had stretched out in the footwell where the heat was.  “It wasn’t that cold.”</p><p><br/> I was barefoot, asshole, Ash thought.</p><p> “Although, to be fair, she was barefoot and naked,” Garth said aloud.</p><p> <br/> Someone gets it, Ash thought smugly.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> There turned out to be exactly zero confirmed vegan hippie witches in town, but there was a small anti-hunting faction that had just assembled itself at the beginning of this winter’s hunting season.  The sun was beginning to set in the sky by the time they were able to narrow their targets down to three households, all of which were miles away from the others.  The team split up in order to cover all possibilities at once, knowing that many more hunters had died while they worked.  Sam hotwired a car and took Ash to the first location, but the couple were just run-of-the-mill PETA activists.  He sent her flying off to Dean’s location, since she could get there faster as a bird than he could drive; but again, there was nothing supernatural about the hemp-clad young vegan that Dean interviewed.  So Ash bolted to Garth’s location, Dean and Sam only minutes behind her.  If they struck out here, they would have to start all over, and even more people would die.  </p><p><br/> She landed on a birdfeeder just outside the sliding glass doors of the house’s back porch, hoping she’d be able to spot Garth inside.  He was sitting in a chair, facing sideways to her, talking to an older man and woman.  She fluttered onto the handrail on the porch for a closer look: His hands were tied behind his back and hooked onto the chair.<br/> He found the right house, at least.</p><p><br/> The house looked a mess: Lamps and chairs had been upended onto the floor, bits of glass and shards of ceramic coffee cups were scattered everywhere, and a few red smears on the wall and tile indicated that quite a scuffle had taken place.  Ash was surprised that the couple had managed to subdue the hunter, but she supposed most witches had more than one trick up their sleeves.  As she studied the scene more, though, she realized their “trick” was a shotgun, now placed on the counter behind the couple.  She hopped closer, straining to hear their voices through the glass.</p><p><br/> “—we won’t kill you,” the woman was saying.  “We’ll leave that up to our spirit friend.”</p><p><br/> The man picked up a piece of paper and a round, flat rock, and began to read the spell.  Garth struggled to slip out of his bonds, but there was no sharp surface he could cut the rope with: It was an old, frayed rope, the kind that gave him rope burn without him even moving his arms.  Struggling with it only made his wrists bleed, but the woman had been thorough with her knots.  </p><p><br/> The man finished the incantation, and the white rabbit appeared before him.  </p><p><br/> “Kill him!” he ordered.</p><p><br/> Garth leaned back, pushing hard with his feet so that the two front chair legs came off the floor.  As the rabbit made to lunge at him, there was a soft “thock!” against the glass of the sliding door: All heads swiveled to see the source of the sound.  A dazed chickadee plopped onto the deck, leaving a blotchy imprint behind on the glass.  It had forgotten that size was a factor when crashing through windows.  </p><p><br/> The rabbit stared at the little bird for a moment, its red eyes able to take in both bird and Garth at the same time.  It watched curiously as Ash shook herself off and took a few experimental hops, fluttering her wings and finally taking off.  The chickadee disappeared from sight and the spirit turned its attention back to its next human victim.  It leaped, and Garth kicked his leg up—he didn’t manage to kick it, but the momentum flipped the chair over, and he landed painfully on his bound hands.  The rabbit just barely missed his throat, landing next to his head.  </p><p><br/> The fall broke the back of the chair, and Garth was able to spin onto his side just as the rabbit turned and made another pass at his jugular.  He tucked his chin as he rolled, and it took a bite out of the back of his neck instead—still painful, but not deadly.  As he rolled, glass exploded above him as something halfway between a hawk and a dragon crashed through the door.  Feathers floated in the air and blood splattered; the witch-man shouted in surprise and his wife screamed, grabbing the shotgun and turning it toward the thing that had landed in their kitchen.  </p><p><br/> The woman squeezed the trigger, shooting Ash in what was quite possibly her chest, though since she was still changing shape it was hard to be sure.  She made a terrifying screeching noise, caused by half-formed vocal cords, and shifted into a white rabbit with red eyes.  She darted for the man, who was still holding the river stone, trying to get him to drop the rock.  The man kicked out at her, but she weaved around his legs, then jumped and kicked him in the back of his knee, throwing him off balance.  The woman kept the shotgun trained on her but couldn’t shoot without the risk of also blowing out her husband’s legs.  </p><p><br/> There was a bang from the other end of the house as the front door flew open; the woman spun around as Dean ran inside, his own gun raised.  Garth yelped as he struggled to avoid the assassin-rabbit, his hands still tied behind his back.  The spirit was relentless in its quest to rip his neck out, squeaking in very un-rabbit-like rage as Garth managed to evade him.  Ash darted over to bite through the ropes on his wrists, then turned to face off against the rabbit.</p><p><br/> “Call off the Monty Python crap,” Dean growled, staring down the witches.  </p><p><br/> The woman smiled with false sweetness, her eyes full of hate.  “The only thing worse than a hunter is a ‘hunter,’” she said.  “Well, our spirit can take care of you, too.”  <br/> The husband muttered something under his breath, rubbing the stone, and the spirit immediately went from attacking Garth to attacking Dean.  It jumped at least eight feet, launching itself across the kitchen in a beeline for his throat.  Dean didn’t even have time to aim his gun, but he did manage to bring his forearm up to his neck, and the rabbit bit down hard.  Its teeth, he realized, were not normal rabbits’ teeth, but felt more like the bite of a vampire.  It gnawed ferociously, tearing his flesh and spraying blood everywhere.  Blood flew into his eyes, and he staggered back, blinking to clear his vision.  He shook his arm, realizing immediately that this was a mistake: The damn rabbit would not let go.  It bit down harder, and he screamed as he felt the teeth connect with bone.  </p><p><br/> Garth jumped to his feet and began to grapple with the old man; Garth was stronger, but the man punched him with the fist that held the rock, and its added weight sent the young hunter reeling backwards.  He suddenly found himself at the end of a shotgun barrel, and he saw the woman’s finger start to squeeze the trigger; he felt like he was moving slower than he should be as he tried to move away, but he knew he wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet.  </p><p><br/> The shotgun barrel tilted upward just as it went off, the noise from the blast painful at such close range.  Garth saw a flash of gray as what looked like a wolf tackled the witch woman, snarling and biting at her hands.  Ash couldn’t kill the witch, as she was still technically ‘human,’ but she could make sure she wouldn’t fire the damn gun again.  Once she felt the little bones in her hands crunch sufficiently, Ash turned her attention back to the spirit, who was a whisker away from sinking his teeth into Dean’s neck.  She leapt, knocking Dean over as she grabbed the rabbit in her jaws.  </p><p><br/> Nothing personal, she thought to the spirit.</p><p><br/> I cannot stop.  Not while I’m bound to the stone.</p><p><br/> I know.</p><p><br/> The spirit squirmed and snapped furiously, trying to break free of Ash’s grip.  She bit down harder, knowing she wouldn’t be able to kill it but still feeling guilty about hurting it when it wasn’t acting of its own volition.  She finally seemed to have things under control, at least as far as containing the rabbit, when the damn thing disappeared entirely and reappeared on the other side of the room, next to Garth, who was now fighting both the husband and wife for control.  </p><p><br/> Ash nudged Dean, who groaned and clutched his forearm, which was bleeding profusely.  He staggered to his feet as Ash licked at the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.  A flap of skin dangled where the rabbit hadn’t quite managed to sever it completely.  </p><p><br/> The male witch picked up the shotgun as the rabbit leapt for Garth; at the same time, Dean grabbed his own gun and fired, shooting him in the shoulder.  His wife shrieked, and he shot her as well.  Garth reached for the stone, but the rabbit was on him; he tucked his chin and flailed his arms madly, and the rabbit landed on his chest, biting his chin as it tried to get through to his neck.  Ash leapt forward, grabbing the stone in her mouth, but she didn’t have the leverage in this form to destroy it.  She tossed it to Dean, who shot it point-blank.  Shards of rock flew everywhere, including into his eyes.</p><p><br/> Garth went to grab the rabbit to pull it away, but it vanished in a green mist before he could touch it.  </p><p><br/> “Where’d it go?!”</p><p><br/> “It’s gone,” Dean said.  “It’s done.”</p><p><br/> The three survivors spun as more footsteps pounded toward them, and Sam burst into the kitchen, ready to fight.  He skidded to a halt, trying to take in the sight in front of him.</p><p><br/> “Did…Did I miss it?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Took you long enough,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “So…It’s all good?”</p><p><br/> “Well, except for these guys,” he said, gesturing to the two witches.  They weren’t dead, just very unhappy with their current predicament.</p><p><br/>  “I can take care of these two clowns,” Garth said.  “Thanks for your help.”</p><p><br/> “You sure?” said Sam, who felt he’d missed out on all the important fighting.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Got everything I need in the car.”  Garth smiled.  “I’ll see you around.”  He patted Ash on the head, who had changed from a wolf into a lab.  “Good dog.”<br/> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6: The Bleakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Christmas special (very loosely) inspired by Bob's Burgers!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The Bleaken is coming as fast as he can,<br/>Ruining Christmas like he don’t give a damn.<br/>Gotta find the Bleaken, we’ll follow his scent.<br/>We gotta stop the Bleaken from stealing our presents!<br/>He’s gonna be defeated, he’s about to meet his match<br/>(And maybe when we find him, we can ask for Mom’s tree back)<br/>The Bleaken is gonna wish that he was never born.  <br/>We’re coming for you man, hold on to your horns.<br/>The Bleaken is gonna wish that he was never born!<br/>We’re coming for you man, hold on to your horns!”<br/>--The Belcher Children, Bob’s Burgers “The Bleakening”</p><p>December 15</p><p><br/> “Found our next case,” Sam announced as Dean slumped down at the table, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.  Sam had already gone for a run with Ash, showered, and gone through the news by the time his brother rolled out of bed.  “Five children reported missing in Santa Claus, Indiana.  All disappeared from their homes at night.  It could be a regular kidnapping—some kind of child trafficking ring or mass child murderer—but one of the mothers reported seeing a ‘tall, thin man wearing an antlered animal skull who vanished through a wall with her son.’  Police are apparently blaming her vision on sleeping pills, but…It’s worth a look.”</p><p><br/> Dean grabbed the Styrofoam cup of coffee his brother nudged toward him, taking a sip before he spoke.  “Santa Claus?  That’s the name of a town?”</p><p><br/> Sam nodded.  “They really embrace their name, too.  They’ve got a theme park and tons of events—looks like a real tourist trap in December.  I bet they get a ton of kids visiting.  Kids who could become the next victims of…Whatever it is that’s stealing kids.”</p><p><br/> “Alright, alright, we’ll go!  It’s gonna be a bitch to get a room there, I bet.”</p><p><br/> Sam typed away on his computer.  “You are correct.  Looks like our options are…One room that just opened up at a B&amp;B, or a Motel 6 fifty-four miles away.”  He scrolled down the page.  “The B&amp;B serves a full breakfast every morning, hot cocoa and cocktails in the afternoon, and complementary pie every Sunday.”</p><p><br/> Dean sat up straight.  “Pie?”</p><p><br/> “Only on Sundays.”</p><p><br/> Dean kick-started his brain, trying to remember what day it was.  “Two days away.  It’ll take us at least that long to deal with this kidnapper.”  He yawned, getting slowly to his feet.  “I’ll start packing.”</p><p><br/> Ash shifted to her human form and helped load up the Impala.  “What’s a B&amp;B?”</p><p><br/> “Bed and breakfast.  It’s like a small, family-run motel with a home-cooked breakfast.  They’re usually a lot nicer than the places we stay at,” Sam said.<br/> “And you won’t catch chlamydia just by touching the sheets,” Dean added.</p><p><br/> <br/> Santa Claus, Indiana was unlike anything Ash had seen before.  She’d lived with humans who celebrated and decorated for Christmas, but this town had taken it to another level: Every storefront window had elaborate holiday displays and twinkling lights.  Nearly every house they passed had lights around its roof, strung around trees out front, and/or displays on its lawn, varying from nativity scenes to light-up reindeer to life-size wooden cutouts of Santa and Mrs. Claus.  Ash fell in love with one yard in particular that sported four giant inflatable dragons: One had a present in front of it, one was wearing a Santa hat, one had reindeer antlers, and one had a striped hat and scarf.  The dragons may have been out of place compared to the rest of the holiday decorations, but she thought it was awesome and hilarious.  </p><p><br/> The woman at the B&amp;B looked exhausted but gave them a friendly smile.  “Hi folks!  Welcome to Santa Claus.  I’m Anna, and you’ll meet my husband Bruce later.  Dining room’s right through there, and right here’s the lounge—feel free to hang out anytime, there’s always a fire going.”  She showed them to their room, which was around the side of the building.  “You have your own fireplace, too; wood’s self-serve around the back, just make sure you open the flue first or you’ll smoke yourself out.  We get a lot of city folks who aren’t used to that kind of thing.”  One glance at the boys’ flannel shirts and the dirt on their boots assured her that they knew their way around a fireplace.  “There’s extra blankets in the closet if you need them.  We got a new hot water heater last year, but it’s an old house and it can only take so much during our busy season, so I recommend you shower as early as you can or wait till later in the day if you don’t want to run out.  This flyer has our schedule for here as well as a list of many of the events in town.”</p><p><br/> Anna left them to settle in.  Sam pulled his laptop out and set it on the table, then pulled his FBI suit from his bag and went to work ironing it out.  “We should come up with a story for who you are, just in case,” he said to Ash.  “In a small town like this, people tend to be nosy.  Dean and I are undercover FBI—for now, at least—but you…”  He looked up in thought, narrowly avoiding burning his hand.  “You could be Dean’s girlfriend, and you had to meet him here because he’s out on assignment and you wouldn’t see him at Christmas otherwise.”</p><p><br/> Ash cocked her head to the side, still trying to grasp how people believed the whole FBI thing.  “Why Dean?”</p><p><br/> “Because he’s a slut.”  Sam giggled as Dean smacked him and threatened to iron his hand.  </p><p><br/> “At least I didn’t sleep with a de—”</p><p><br/> “Do not finish that sentence,” Sam snapped.</p><p><br/> “But Sam’s more ‘boyfriend material,’” Ash said, then immediately wished she hadn’t.</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “True.”</p><p><br/> “Wait, what?” Dean replied.  “I’m not ‘boyfriend material?’  What’s that even mean?”</p><p><br/> Ash swallowed.  “I didn’t mean…It’s just, Sam’s had more long-term relationships than you, whereas you go more for, um, casual encounters…”</p><p><br/> “One more long-term relationship than me, because he wasn’t a hunter at the time!  Hunters can’t have that, because we’re hunters.  And how do you know that, anyway?”<br/> “Um.  The books that guy wrote about you…”</p><p><br/> “I can be relationship-y,” Dean grumbled, crossing his arms.  “I was an awesome boyfriend.  I cooked, helped take care of Ben, gave her little presents for no reason…Sam can’t cook, and he’s never had a girlfriend with a kid before—”</p><p><br/> “I can’t cook because I never had a stove to learn on or anyone to teach me,” Sam retorted.  “I had you and Dad and takeout menus.  And I rescued that dog—”<br/> “The one you ran over?” Dean smirked.</p><p><br/> The scent of cotton/wool blend struck Ash’s sensitive nose.  “Sam, I think you’re burning your sleeve.”</p><p><br/> Sam removed the iron, still glaring at his brother.  </p><p><br/> “And I iron better than you,” Dean said as he took over with his own suit.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash wandered around the cute little Christmas town while Sam and Dean talked to the police and the parents of the missing children.  She shifted from bird to cat and back again, ducking behind piles of snow or buildings to avoid being seen.  She looked for anything out of the ordinary that might point toward a specific monster, but nothing weird stood out to her.  The neighborhoods were full of Christmas decorations and strings of lights.  Snowmen, ranging from two crudely-stacked balls with sticks stuck in the sides, to elaborate, perfectly spherical structures decked out with shiny black pebbles and multi-colored hats and scarves, sat in front yards like winter scarecrows.  None of the ones she inspected seemed to be about to spring to life and kidnap children.  </p><p><br/> There were no alien smells, no wafts of sulfur to indicate a demon had been in the area and none of the musky animal scent of a werewolf or shifter.  It was cold, but not colder than it should have been; detecting a ghost in this weather was futile, but she doubted a ghost wanted a bunch of kids.  Maybe it was a human kidnapper after all?<br/> She met up with Sam and Dean for lunch at a local café.  Old-timey Christmas music played overhead, and lights twinkled across the ceiling.  Creepy-looking Santas stood on shelves and next to potted plants on the floor, staring at diners with big eyes and red-lipped smiles that were probably considered cheery back in the 50’s but now were more reminiscent of possessed children’s toys.  </p><p><br/> “It’s not demons, witches, ghosts, or any of the usual suspects,” Sam mused.  “Could be vampires, but it’s unlikely; there was no forced entry, and kids don’t make the best meals.”</p><p><br/> “Whatever it is, it doesn’t leave footprints,” Dean said, “which makes things more difficult.  We have one more family to talk to today, and we’d like to take you with us.  See if you can spot anything we might’ve missed.”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.</p><p><br/> “This last victim wasn’t actually abducted, so it may not be the same thing, but if there’s anything we’ve learned it’s that there are no coincidences.  Six-year-old boy woke up from a nightmare and called for his mom.  She runs into his room, finds his bed soaked in blood and the back of his shirt shredded.  His back was covered in whip marks.”<br/> “We’re thinking there might be more kids like him, but their parents are too afraid to call the police because they’d be reported for child abuse.  Parents would be the primary suspects in a case like that,” Dean said.  </p><p><br/> “The kids who were taken…Do you think they’re still alive?”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged. Sam gave a half-nod, non-committal but optimistic.</p><p> <br/> “If they are, we’ll find them,” Sam said.  “We’ll find them even if they…Aren’t.”</p><p> </p><p> Ash shifted in the back of the Impala as Dean drove them to the final house of the day.  Once she was in her favorite canine form, Sam twisted around in his seat and leaned over into the back to buckle the collar around her neck.  </p><p><br/> “Is that too tight?”  She shook her head, and Sam scratched between her ears.  “You find something, bark once and lie down.  That’s what bomb-sniffing dogs do at the airport.”</p><p><br/> They pulled up to the house, which was festively adorned with icicle lights along the roof and a family of lighted reindeer in the yard.  One of the reindeer had its head lowered like it was grazing, but snow had piled up around it and buried the head completely, somewhat ruining the festive look.  Dean got out of the car, followed by Sam, who opened the back door for Ash and grabbed her leash as she hopped out.  A frazzled-looking woman in a stained sweatshirt and yoga pants greeted them, balancing a two-year-old daughter on one hip as she opened the door with her free hand.  She couldn’t have been much older than Dean, but the deep bags under her eyes made her look much older.</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean introduced themselves; the woman, named Sarah, welcomed them inside and gestured for them to make themselves comfortable on a crumb-encrusted couch while she put her toddler into a playpen.  Ash laid down at Sam’s feet, looking around the room and focusing her sense of smell on anything unusual.<br/> “His crying woke me up,” Sarah said.  “He has nightmares sometimes, and usually he just climbs into bed between me and my husband; I don’t think I’ve ever woke up to hear him crying before.  I didn’t want Rachel to wake up,” she went on, nodding toward the playpen, “So I went to check on him to try to quiet him down.  I turned on the light, and saw…” she paused, a lump caught in her throat.  “His sheet was drenched in blood.  I was half asleep, at first I thought he’d just wet the bed, but…”  She stopped again, closed her eyes, and shook her head.  When she opened her eyes again, she looked calmer.  “His back had all these slices across it, like he’d been whipped.  He couldn’t have done it with his fingernails; even if he could have reached all the way around in his sleep, he wouldn’t have been able to cut that deep.”<br/> “Did he say what his nightmare was?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “A monster was attacking him.  He said…He said it was angry with him for hitting his sister.  He’d smacked her that morning, and I’d scolded him; I never thought he’d feel so guilty about it that he’d have nightmares!”</p><p><br/> “And the monster whipped him, like the injuries on his back?”</p><p><br/> “That’s what he said.”  She shivered. “If someone snuck into the house and beat him…But why would they do that?  And how—I had the door locked, you can’t be too careful with all the out-of-towners around this time of year.”</p><p><br/> “That’s what we’re going to find out,” Sam said.  “Do you mind if we have a look around?”</p><p><br/> “Absolutely.”  Sarah stood and retrieved her daughter, who was starting to fuss.  “There’s a few ways to get in and out, other than the main door: Sliding porch doors in the back, and bulkhead doors leading down to the basement.  And the door to the garage, I suppose.”</p><p><br/> “We should take a look at your son’s room, too.”</p><p><br/> “Yes, of course.  Up the stairs, second door.  Jake’s in his room right now.”</p><p><br/> “How is he?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “He’s putting on a brave face, but he’s scared.”</p><p><br/> The ‘agents’ inspected all of the entry points from the inside first, Ash sniffing each for anything suspicious.  She could smell snow-melt and dirt that the family had dragged inside on their boots, and Goldfish cracker dust from the kids’ snacks.  There was nothing supernatural about any of the smells, and the boys couldn’t find traces of anything either, so they went to inspect Jake and his room.</p><p><br/> The door was open; Jake was sitting on his bed, playing with a handheld video game.  Dean knocked on the door frame, and he looked up at them.<br/> “Hi Jake,” Dean greeted.  “Can I come in?  My name’s Dean, and I—”</p><p><br/> “I heard you talking to Mom downstairs,” Jake interrupted.  He set down his game and looked up at Dean, then glanced at Sam and Ash.  “Do you think the thing that hurt me is what took the other kids?”</p><p><br/> “It could be,” Dean said.  “Do you know the other kids?”</p><p><br/> He nodded.  “Chris lives across the street.  We walk to school together and he hangs out with me until his parents get home.  I don’t know the others real well.”<br/> “Your mom says you had a nightmare where a monster attacked you.  Do you remember what it looked like?”</p><p><br/> Jake nodded; he hopped off his bed and grabbed a piece of paper from his desk, offering it to Dean.  It was a crayon drawing of a humanoid creature with long, skinny legs and arms, a horse-like head and antlers.  </p><p><br/> “This black on its body—is that clothes, or fur?”</p><p><br/> “Fur,” the boy said with confidence.  “And feathers, I think.  Its feet were hooves, and its fingers were long and got longer.  He hit me with them, that’s what made the marks on my back.”</p><p><br/> “They changed length?”</p><p><br/> Jake nodded.  “It hurt.  A lot.”</p><p><br/> “And its head is like a horse?”</p><p><br/> “No, I couldn’t draw it right.  It was a black skull, like a deer skull.  And deer antlers.  It had glowing red eyes that came out of the holes in the skull.”</p><p><br/> Sam sat down on the edge of the bed.  “Your mom says it attacked you for a reason—did it talk to you?  Tell you why it was mad?”</p><p><br/> He nodded.  “It talked like…I don’t know, it was creepy.  It’s like it talked right into my head, and it sounded like Darth Vader but all quiet.  He said I’d been bad for hitting my sister, and he was going to punish me.  And then his fingers grew out, like tree branches, and he started hitting me.”</p><p><br/> Despite having been whipped by a monster in his sleep, this kid was handling things well.  Sam and Dean both wondered if he’d make a good hunter one day.  <br/> “Can you remember where you were in the dream?  Were you in your room, or somewhere else?”</p><p><br/> “In my room.”</p><p><br/> “Do you know how it got in?”</p><p><br/> He shook his head.  “In my dream, I woke up and it was just standing there,” Jake said, pointing to a spot on the carpet.  “After he hit me a lot, I turned around and he was gone.  Then I woke up.”</p><p><br/> Sam released Ash’s leash and she sniffed around the kid’s room.  His floor was littered in dirty socks, Legos, and little plastic dinosaur toys.  She sniffed around the spot he’d pointed at, realizing there may be nothing if this thing had managed to attack him through a dream.  But there was something there, faint but real: Two tiny patches of rug that were pressed down a little more than the surrounding space.  There was a little dirt, and the scent of fir trees and animal musk.  Given the level of dirt in the rest of the room, it was entirely possible that the dirt and marks were caused by Jake, but the indentations were too round to be made by his feet—they were more hoof-like.  She sniffed the surrounding area and found a few flecks of blood by the foot of the bed.  Remembering Sam’s instruction, she barked once and laid down, her nose pointed right at the tiny stain.</p><p><br/> Sam knelt by her side, lowering his head to see what she’d found.  She had to paw at the ground several times before he finally spotted the evidence.<br/> “Blood,” he said aloud to Dean.  </p><p><br/> Jake wandered over to inspect the floor for himself.  “I thought all the blood was on my bed.  I didn’t stand here except—” he looked up.  “Except in my dream, this is where I was when he hit me.” </p><p><br/> “Jake, are you sure it was a dream you had?”</p><p><br/> Jake frowned at him.  “Mom says it was.  She says monsters aren’t real.”</p><p><br/> Dean leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level.  “Oh, kid…Monsters are very real.”</p><p><br/> “Dean!  Don’t tell him that!”</p><p><br/> “What?  He should know—”</p><p><br/> “You’ll scare him!”</p><p><br/> “He doesn’t seem very scared after being attacked by…Well, something.  He can handle it.”</p><p><br/> Jake crossed his arms and puffed up his tiny chest.  “I can handle it,” he echoed.  </p><p><br/> Dean slipped him his card.  “You see that monster, any monster, again, you call me.  Okay?”</p><p><br/> “Okay!”  Jake hopped back onto his bed and picked up his video game again as the monster hunters left.  Sam and Dean looked at each other with a look that said, This is going to be a new one for us.  Sam was already picturing the hours of research he’d have to put in to find this child-snatching, child-punishing, possibly dream-walking humanoid deer thing.  </p><p><br/> Ash had her nose to the carpet, following Jake’s scent trail out of his room and to the top of the stairs.  It was entirely possible that it was just from his own bare feet walking around, but there was a glimmer of a chance that it was from whatever had attacked him.  There was also a strong scent of balsam that permeated the carpet, from people treading over Christmas tree needles repeatedly.  She followed the boy’s scent down the stairs, finding that it was strongest heading toward the back door.  Sam followed her to the door and opened it for her; outside the snow had been tamped down by many different feet.  There were tiny little boot prints from the toddler, medium-small prints from the son, and larger prints from the parents.  Even if an elephant had broken down the back door to get to Jake, it would have been difficult to tell.  What they really needed was a fresh snowfall, somewhere in the three-inch range, and the child-snatcher’s prints were sure to show up—unless, of course, it didn’t leave footprints at all.<br/> Sam and Dean thanked Sarah for her time and headed back to the hotel with the picture Jake had drawn.  Sam immediately set to work on his research; Ash was ready to curl up at his feet (she was providing emotional support, very important), but Dean told her to change up.</p><p><br/> “There’s snacks in the main building,” he said.  “Sam doesn’t need moral support to look up a child-snatching demon.”</p><p><br/> Sam glared at his brother.</p><p><br/> “I’ll bring something back for you.  Maybe they’ll have something healthy, like…I don’t know…Carrot sticks.”  Dean made a face. </p><p><br/> “Coffee,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> <br/> Once Ash had changed into her human form and Dean had changed out of his Fed suit, they made their way over to the reception area.  There were several other people already helping themselves to coffee and cocoa: One older couple, a younger couple, and two families with small children.  Ash’s interactions with humans as a human had been limited up to this point, and she desperately wished Dean could have brought her over as a dog instead.  She felt horribly anxious and awkward, like everyone could tell that she didn’t belong.  She stayed as close to Dean as possible, not realizing she was still acting like a dog at its master’s heel.<br/> “You okay?” Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder as he poured two cups of coffee.  </p><p><br/> Ash dug her nails into her palm and tried to force a smile, but she had a feeling it came off as more as a grimace.  “Yeah.  Just…Human.”</p><p><br/> Dean looked blank for a moment, then seemed to understand.  He nudged her toward a table of cookies and tiny oranges.  “Grab a plate for us and some Clementines for Sam.  If they have any of the cutout cookies with frosting, those’re my favorite.  You drink coffee?”</p><p><br/> “…Tea?” she said, distracted by the other people.  Crowley kept tea on hand as a sort of remembered habit from when he’d been alive.  Ash was pretty sure he’d never actually drunk any of it, but he let her have it because it had less caffeine than coffee, and he said she was hard enough to deal with un-caffeinated.  </p><p><br/>She side-stepped two small children who ran into her path on her way to the table.  As she started stacking cookies onto a tiny paper plate, she listened to two parents speaking quietly to each other.</p><p><br/> “Do you think they’re connected?  That’s it’s one person responsible for all the disappearances?”</p><p><br/> “How can it not be?  Something that big, my mind goes right to—”</p><p><br/> “Don’t say it—”</p><p><br/> “Child trafficking.”</p><p><br/> “The boys are safe here though, aren’t they?  I mean, with everyone around, all the rooms close by…”</p><p><br/> “No one could get in and out without someone noticing.  They’ll be fine.  No reason to end our vacation early.”</p><p><br/> Ash went back to Dean, grabbing a Styrofoam cup of tea so he could bring the coffees back to their room.</p><p> <br/> As soon as they were outside, Dean started: “Don’t like being around people?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “People are fine.  I just…I’m better at being a dog.  I’ve done it longer.”</p><p><br/> “Cas was awkward, too, when we first met him.  Guess it takes time to get used to it.  You’ve got experience he didn’t have, though—since you lived with people, you get stuff he’s still trying to figure out.  Idioms and expressions, all the phrases we use even though their literal interpretation means something different—you get most of that.  And stuff like personal space, body language—it took him forever to figure out.”</p><p><br/> “I think the problem with humans is…” Ash hesitated, trying to find the right words.  “Most animals, there are rules.  If you’re a dog, you can give a play bow to any other dog on the planet and it’ll know you want to play.  But with people, everything is so complicated.  A smile means you’re happy or sad or angry; you say stuff you don’t mean, and don’t say the stuff you do mean.  Everybody’s just making up the rules as they go.”</p><p><br/> They reached the room, and Ash balanced her plate on one arm to open the door for Dean and his drinks.  “See?  You know what you’re doing.”</p><p><br/> Sam looked up from his laptop, and Dean sat down across from him, setting the coffees down between them.  Ash put the food down next to him and grabbed a seat as well.<br/> “Find anything?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> Sam glared at him.  “You were gone five minutes.”</p><p><br/> “Fifteen,” Dean replied, glancing at the clock on his phone.  “So that’s a no?”</p><p><br/> Sam snorted.  “Alright, I did find something.  It’s called the Bleaken, and it’s an old winter spirit.  Used to turn up every year around the winter solstice, back when Christmas was a Pagan holiday.  This says it had the form of a man, covered in black fur and feathers, with hooves like a deer and thin, sticklike fingers that lengthened and turned into whipping sticks he would use on naughty children.  He wore a skull on his head, or his head was a skull—it’s not super clear on that—and antlers sticking out the top.”  Sam spun the laptop around to show Dean, then held up the boy’s picture for comparison.</p><p><br/> “Okay, so he whipped the kid ‘cause he hit his sister.  Why are kids disappearing?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> Sam turned the screen back around.  “As time went on, the story of the Bleaken gets worse.  He got worse; upped his game.  Like all those anti-Santas, it seems the Bleaken wasn’t content just slapping the kids on the wrist, so to speak.  The lore says he was also known to ‘rip out children’s intestines and replace them with garbage,’ or ‘steal them away in the night and make them his personal slaves.  Like Santa had the elves to help him make toys, the Bleaken had his naughty children to engage in manual labor, working in the forest until they died from exhaustion.’”</p><p><br/> “That’s…Different.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, and it says he’s a shape shifter.  While he’s not torturing and kidnapping children, he lives as a common woodland creature, most likely a deer.  As his standards changed and he started picking off kids who’d only done little things—things every kid does, like smacking their siblings—parents started hanging mistletoe in their doorways to ward him off.”  Sam nodded to Ash.  “Remember what Crowley said about mistletoe and shifters?  Anyway, eventually the Bleaken just sort of…Disappeared, but people kept hanging mistletoe around the solstice.  It became a tradition to kiss under it, because you kiss your relatives when they come visit at the holidays—”</p><p><br/> “I get it, Sam.  So, all we have to do is get every parent in town to hang mistletoe on their doors, and this guy leaves them alone?  That shouldn’t be too hard.”<br/> Sam gave his brother an exasperated look.  “When have we ever been able to convince anyone that they needed to do something?”</p><p><br/> Dean cleared his throat.  “Okay.  Point.  We…Gift everyone some mistletoe?”</p><p><br/> “And hope they hang it in their doorways?”</p><p><br/> “You have a better idea, or you just want to shoot down all of mine?”</p><p><br/> Ash bit into a cookie, ignoring the glares that shot across the table.  “So where do you get that much mistletoe, anyway?  I feel like it’s not something you keep in the trunk, since you didn’t even know it would work on shifters till Crowley told you.”</p><p><br/> Sam blinked.  “Um.  A Christmas store.  Right?”  He looked to Dean for confirmation.</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “Never seen it before, but I wasn’t looking for it, either.  They must sell it along with ornaments and stuff, right?”</p><p><br/> “It has to be live, though,” Sam said.  “I’ve seen poinsettias in grocery stores, but mistletoe’s…It’s not in dirt, it’s just a vine that grows parasitically on trees in the south.  I don’t know what part of the store you’d find that in.”</p><p><br/> Dean grabbed his phone and motioned for Sam to grab his.  “Should start callin’ around, then.  I’ll start with grocery stores, you start with specialty shops like florists.”</p><p><br/> <br/> Ash grabbed the laptop as the boys went to work.  She read through the tabs Sam had found on solstice spirits and the Bleaken; there wasn’t much more than what he’d told them already.  He’d found a lot of information on ‘Krampus,’ but that particular anti-Santa didn’t look anything like the picture the kid had drawn, and tended to leave a lot of blood and mess in his wake.  There had also been at least two movies made about him, both of which were almost entirely incorrect.  </p><p><br/> If this thing was the Bleaken, and it sure looked like it was, she could see why she hadn’t been able to detect it before.  The site said it smelled like the forest, like a balsam fir tree, and though it weighed several hundred pounds it tended not to leave footprints; on those occasions when it did leave impressions on the ground, they looked like ordinary deer prints.  It smelled like a Christmas tree, and it was Christmas time; picking its scent up would be nearly impossible.  They could look for black fur or feathers, but there hadn’t been any at Jake’s house; it seemed to be very good at covering its tracks and leaving no trace, just like Santa.  </p><p><br/> There was nothing in the lore about how to kill it.  Once people figured out how to repel it, there hadn’t been a need to destroy it, as it had vanished on its own.  Ash suspected its new rise to power had something to do with the recent almost-apocalypse, or another major power vacuum caused by the Winchesters.  They did have a habit of stopping one thing just to have five more things pop up; why should a winter woodland spirit be any different?</p><p><br/> Given the dejected looks on both their faces, Ash gathered that it would still be a while before Sam and Dean struck gold in the mistletoe department.  Trying to not be completely useless, she cracked a window and shifted into a little bird, fluttering out to investigate.  She wanted to know where the kids at the B&amp;B were staying, just in case the Bleaken decided to take an interest in tourists.  </p><p><br/> A few children were still hanging out with their families in the reception area, sipping hot chocolate and eating cookies; more, she knew, were out exploring the town or visiting the local amusement park.  Ash flitted from tree to tree outside the long building’s windows, spotting tiny suitcases, little discarded socks on the beds, and stuffed animals propped up against pillows.  Using these visuals, she deduced that there were kids staying in five out of the eight rentable rooms: three on the second floor, and two on the first.  They were going to need a lot of mistletoe.</p><p><br/> Ash flew back inside and shifted, happy to see that the boys were finally off their phones.</p><p><br/> “There’s good news and bad news,” Sam told her.  “We found a florist wholesaler who has live mistletoe—or dead—well, real, at any rate—but they’re a six-hour drive.  They can ship it, but it’ll take two days; it’ll be faster if one of us goes to pick it up.”</p><p><br/> “But they don’t have enough for everyone with kids in town to cover all their doors,” Dean added.  “So we need to go to another wholesaler, two hours away from the first.”<br/> “But there’s no one closer that carries the real deal.  One of us is going on a hell of a long drive.”</p><p><br/> He and Dean gave each other a look, each holding a fist out in front of him.</p><p> <br/> “One, two, three, shoot!” called Dean, throwing rock while Sam made scissors.  </p><p><br/> “Damn it,” Sam muttered, grabbing the keys from his brother.  </p><p><br/> “See you tomorrow,” Dean grinned.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Right.”  Sam turned to Ash.  “Do you want to come with me?”</p><p><br/> Dean scoffed.  “Why would she want to go on a day-long car ride to pick up a plant she’s allergic to?”</p><p><br/> Sam glared back at his brother.  “I just thought I’d give her the option; in case she didn’t want to be stuck here alone with you.”</p><p><br/> “What…Are you still hung up about that time we were drugged by Leviathans?  We were drugged!” </p><p><br/> “You can be so thick sometimes!  You were still five seconds away from—”</p><p><br/> “Sam!” Ash snapped.  The air crackled with energy, and the hairs on the boys’ arms stood on end.  Her eyes flared bright blue for a moment, then faded; she realized she’d almost used her power, and looked contrite.  “Could we just…Not talk about it right now.  It’s fine; I want to stay here with Dean, in case the Bleaken shows up.  And…I don’t want to be in a car full of mistletoe.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed internally; she’d already learned the Dean Winchester technique of dealing with a problem by pretending it didn’t exist.  “Fine.  Alright.  Just…Be nice, Dean.”<br/>“I’m always nice!  Just go already,” Dean said, shoving his brother out the door.  </p><p> “You’ll take her to the bonfire tonight?”</p><p><br/> Dean rolled his eyes.  “Yes.”</p><p><br/> “What bonfire?” Ash asked.</p><p><br/> Sam paused, one foot on the front step.  “There’s a big bonfire event tonight by a pond all the locals skate at.  It might be a good opportunity to talk to the parents, see if we can figure out what qualifies as ‘bad’ behavior to the Bleaken and who his next target will be.”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded her understanding.</p><p><br/> “And remember to take the leash!” Sam called to Dean as he shut the door behind him.</p><p><br/> Dean sighed, leaning back on the door.  For a little brother, he could be bossy when the mood struck him.  “We’ve got a couple hours before we need to get going,” he said, flopping down on his bed.  “In honor of not driving sixteen-plus hours straight, I’m taking a nap.”</p><p><br/> That sounded good to Ash; she changed into a German Shepherd, since she’d need to be one later anyway, and curled up at the foot of Sam’s empty bed.  Dean glanced over at her and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, shut it, and started again.  </p><p><br/> “I could use a foot warmer,” he said at last, sliding under the covers in his jeans and flannel.  </p><p><br/> Ash raised her head up, looking over at him.  She really shouldn’t be on his bed at all, she thought; it was far too friendly, too domesticated.  Now, with Sam gone, she felt like it was even more taboo than before: The word ‘intimate’ flashed in her mind, and she tried to shove it aside before it lodged permanently in her brain.  But Dean wanted her to sleep at his feet, and she wanted to make him happy (because if a lifetime of serving a demon had taught her anything, it was how to be a people-pleaser), so she hopped across the space between beds and curled up against his heels.  </p><p> </p><p> The sky was dark when they arrived at the bonfire, but it was barely going on six.  The party was being held at a local park with a popular skating pond; children and adults skidded across the ice on skates and boots, and a grill had been set up next to the fire to cook burgers and hot dogs.  Someone had brought a card table to hold all the plates and condiments, and had even brought a mini Christmas tree to set on top of it.  An oversized pot sat on top of a propane burner, keeping mulled cider bubbling hot.  Dean unhooked Ash’s leash, and she went to sniff around the surrounding woods, though she wasn’t sure how to find a creature with no footprints that smelled like trees when she was surrounded by trees.  Still, she could at least keep an eye out for any suspicious deer.</p><p><br/> There was no wildlife tonight.  All the commotion in the park had sent everything larger than a chickadee into hiding, and there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.  She couldn’t even find regular deer tracks, let alone tracks that may or may not belong to a corrupted, child-snatching solstice spirit.  Ash made her way back to the central hub of people, zeroing in on Dean by the food.  He was chatting up a few of the local moms, talking about weather and who was going to the Super Bowl this year and how rough raising kids is, especially when something’s out there trying to kill them (okay, so maybe he didn’t say that last bit out loud).  He gave her a hotdog, and the moms petted her and gushed over how she was a beautiful dog and such a Good Girl, and Dean wondered why he didn’t always have a dog with him, because they really were chick magnets.</p><p><br/> The women excused themselves to talk to their other friends, and Dean wandered off in search of more MILFs, motioning for Ash to follow him.  She trotted behind him but turned her attention to the pond, where an impromptu ice hockey game had started among a group of children.  They’d borrowed gloves from the adults to pose as goal markers, but they had real sticks and a puck someone had brought from home.  A boy shouted as a golden retriever puppy scampered onto the ice and stole the puck, and the troupe of eight kids charged after it.  The dog thought this was immense fun, and slipped and slid all over the pond to keep this new ‘game’ going.  Eventually, one of the larger kids on actual skates managed to catch up and reclaim the little rubber disc, offering a sacrificial bobble hat to the puppy in exchange.  </p><p><br/> “No, they stock it each spring,” she heard a man say behind her.  “So the kids can go fishing.  You won’t catch anything big in there, but it’s fun for them.  Could be a couple decent-sized trout swimmin’ around the bottom, I guess, ones that’ve avoided gettin’ caught.  It gets pretty deep in the middle.”</p><p><br/> “You sure it’s frozen this early in the year?” a woman asked.  </p><p><br/> “Oh sure.  I wouldn’t take my truck out on it, but I’ve been across.  It’s gonna take a lot more than those kids out there to crack that ice.”</p><p><br/> “Ash!” Dean called.</p><p><br/> She looked up from the hockey game and wandered over to his new little cluster of hot young moms, dutifully letting them fawn over her in what was evidently her new role as ‘wing dog.’  All of these women were married anyway, judging by the rings on their left hands, but Dean either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care as long as they were still talking to him.  One of them was holding a baby just old enough to have grabby hands, and Ash had to duck her head repeatedly to avoid having her ears squeezed.  <br/> A sound like glass breaking snapped her attention back to the pond.  The kids were still playing; no one looked like they’d been hurt.  It was faint, so it could have come from a nearby house.  She turned her head back to the women, when she heard it again; and now she was certain it was coming from the pond.  The kids all looked fine, though.  She took a step away from Dean’s harem, then another, her ears pointed forward, waiting to hear it again.  </p><p><br/> She jumped as a sound like a gunshot pierced the festive atmosphere.  A few people--kids and adult--screamed in surprise.</p><p><br/> “It’s just the ice settling,” someone called out, and with some nervous laughter everyone went back to their conversations.</p><p> <br/> Ash stared at the pond, the fur rising along her back.  Something about it felt off—she didn’t know what, exactly, was wrong, but she was picking up a definite feeling of wrongness.  As she crept closer, she heard a high-pitched noise, like nails on a chalkboard underwater, and shivered.  The humans wouldn’t be able to register the sound, she knew; but from the way the puppy tilted its head out on the ice, she knew he’d heard it, too.  </p><p><br/>“Ash!  Ash, stop!” Dean shouted, alarmed that the shape-shifting Abomination was now running straight at a group of children.  All of her previous good behavior was momentarily forgotten and all he could see was a monster going to attack people.  He started to run toward her; he wanted to draw his gun, but in addition to causing a panic, he might hit one of the kids.  He’d have to try and tackle her, but she was so far ahead of him, and she ran so much faster in the snow than he did…</p><p><br/>The sound grew louder as she drew closer to the pond; she broke into a run, her feet hitting the edge just as another gunshot went off.  The ice in the center of the pond, where the kids were playing, cracked and split.  Kids screamed as they lost their balance and slipped into the frigid water; a few ran to safety, while others fell in trying to rescue the others.  A little boy, maybe 5 years old, scurried along the ice in his boots, crying for his mother.  Ash ran onto the ice to help him, but just as he was about to grab onto her fur, a gnarled black hand with woody fingers like twigs exploded through solid ice, latched around his leg and dragged him under.</p><p><br/> She heard people screaming behind her.  She heard the ice creaking beneath her and felt it shift under her paws.  With a sinking feeling, she realized the ice that the Bleaken had weakened was already closing up over itself, sealing off the children’s hope of getting back out.  Eyeing the largest hole that remained, Ash sprang forward and dove for it.    </p><p><br/> The world didn’t make sense underneath the ice.  She knew, logically, that she was sinking down, so the surface was above her; but between the cold and the dark and the thick and thin wall of ice above her head, her mind really couldn’t be sure which way was up and which was down.  She kicked out with her back legs, propelling herself toward the nearest child; it was a young girl in a puffy pink jacket.  The girl tried to reach out for her, but she was wearing thick mittens; Ash managed to turn so that the girl could get her arms around her neck, and doggy-paddled up to a break in the ice.  As soon as she broke the surface, hands were grabbing the girl; Ash took a deep breath, catching sight of Dean’s face, before diving back down.  </p><p><br/> Dean hauled the girl up and handed her off to the man he’d ordered to get behind him; he wasn’t letting anyone else get close enough to fall in.  The Bleaken might have had a historical affinity for punishing children, but there was nothing saying he couldn’t take out adults as collateral damage if needed.  He’d managed to shout the others off the ice, keeping two men behind him to help haul the kids out.  He halfway wanted to just jump in after Ash, but knew he’d wind up needing rescuing himself; and without Sam as backup, he didn’t trust the civilians to haul his frozen ass out of the ice.  He tried to tune out the sound of hysterical parents crying in the background and focused his senses on what was happening underneath his feet.</p><p><br/> A dark shadow passed under the ice: He braced himself for an attack, but it was just Ash. She surfaced with another child;  Dean grabbed the boy’s arms and dragged him out, feeling disproportionately weak at the effort it took.  But the boy was wearing a coat and snow-pants and boots, all of which were now saturated, adding an ungodly amount of weight to such a tiny person.  He passed him off to the man behind him and turned his attention back to the water.  Another boy came next, colder and more waterlogged than the first two victims; they were only going to get worse, he realized grimly.  Hopefully Ash could get to them all in time.</p><p><br/> “Who’s still missing?” Dean barked up to the crowd.</p><p><br/> “Tabitha!” a woman wailed.  “My Tabitha’s down there!”</p><p><br/> “Aiden,” called another.</p><p><br/> “Matthew!”</p><p><br/> There was more shouting, but it seemed to be focused on getting the already-rescued kids warm and safe.</p><p><br/> “Three?” Dean asked the man next to him.</p><p><br/> He nodded grimly.  “Three.  I don’t know’s they can all swim, let alone hold their breath much longer.”</p><p><br/> Dean clenched his jaw.  I should go in after them; these guys can get them out.  Hell with it, I’m going in.  He started to shrug his jacket off, when his new friend put a warning hand on his arm.      </p><p><br/> “I wouldn’t recommend it.  You’ll only need rescuing yourself.”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “I can—”</p><p><br/> A third child, the last girl, broke the surface.  It wasn’t clear at first glance if she’d been knocked out or just couldn’t hold her breath as long, but she was unconscious.  Dean scooped her up, checked for a pulse, and handed her off.  </p><p><br/> “I have to help,” he said, removing his jacket and handing it to the only empty-handed man left on the ice.  “Don’t lose this.”</p><p><br/> He turned back to the opening in the ice, taking a deep breath to brace himself—and realized the hole was gone.  </p><p><br/> There was no way the hole had closed of its own accord—not this fast.  Could the Bleaken control the ice?</p><p><br/> “Shit.”</p><p><br/> Something that was definitely not a child or a dog passed under him, and a chill ran up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.  Glowing red eyes peered back at him for an instant, then the creature was gone.  Dean kicked the covered hole with the heel of his boot and broke through almost immediately.  Ash’s dog head burst through the ice, holding up the fourth kid by the back of his shirt; he wasn’t wearing a coat anymore, and he was also unconscious.  Dean passed the kid back, and there was a small cheer from the crowd.  People gathered around the latest rescue, Aiden, working to clear the water from his lungs and get him warm.  </p><p><br/> Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the first kid went under the ice, but it had to have been over a minute by now.  How long could their little bodies stand the cold?  How long could they go without oxygen?  He knew he could hold his breath for a long time as a kid, but he’d held contests with Sam all the time, culminating in an epic battle the summer they’d spent camping by a lake in North Carolina, while their dad hunted the ‘Loch Ness Monster of the Appalachians’.  Dean had won, and he’d also had to endure one hell of a lecture after Sam nearly drowned.  One left, Ash; hurry up. </p><p><br/> Ash spun around, disoriented again.  She knew the pond wasn’t that deep, but for some reason the bottom looked an awful lot like the top.  She tried to shift into a different form that was more at home in the water, but she was so cold that her body was unable to change.  Cursing mentally, she spun around and swam after the only patch of color left in the pond.  The Bleaken had the last boy by his ankle, towing his unconscious form through the water.  She didn’t know how it had planned to get the kids out of the pond, or if it had just planned to drown them all, but she wasn’t going to let him take this one.  She lashed out with her power, trying to toss the Bleaken backward so that it might drop the kid, but in the water all she managed to do was create a small ripple.  Changing tactics, she tried to grab the kid with her energy and pull him toward her; that started to work, until the monster took notice.  It turned its beady red eyes on her and tightened its grip on the child.  The fingers on its free hand grew, snaking around her neck like vines and strangling her.  The vines retracted, drawing her toward it; once she was within striking distance, she kicked at it with her hind legs.  It swept her to the side, extending the vines again so that she was out of range; Ash twisted her neck to bite the long, woody fingers.  Its eyes flashed as it released her; she bit it again and kicked at it until it finally released the boy; she wasted no time in bringing him back to the surface.  </p><p><br/> Dean grabbed the kid, then reached back to haul her out.  His hand closed around her collar, but the Bleaken grabbed her back leg at the same moment, pulling down as he pulled up.  Ash yelped in surprise; its grip was firm, and it didn’t have the problems Dean was having with cold hands and colder, slippery fur.  Ash barely had time to take a breath before it pulled her back under, but Dean didn’t let go.  He pitched into the icy pond, his own breath getting knocked out of his lungs by the cold.</p><p> <br/> He kicked off the underside of the ice, getting just enough downward momentum to punch the Bleaken in its bony nose.  That turned out to be a mistake, as it was literal bone and very painful to hit; but at least he had the damn thing’s attention.  Once more, the Bleaken shot its fingers out to wrap around both their necks.  Dean grabbed the silver knife out of his pocket, which he’d thankfully stowed in his pants and not his coat; he stabbed the beast’s arm and it released him reflexively; he took another stab at it, trying to stab the arm that held Ash; he missed the arm but felt the blade sink into flesh.  Ash opened her mouth like she was going to howl, but all that came out were bubbles.  Dean felt a surge of power push him backward; whatever she’d done was strong enough to get the Bleaken to release her, but now the icy water was beginning to cloud with blood.</p><p><br/> The Bleaken’s long branch-like arms swung out at both of them, its fingers now ending in jagged points like snapped branches.  It caught Ash across her face and sliced Dean’s shoulder open; as more blood billowed into the water, blurring his vision, Dean slashed out blindly with the knife.  He connected with some part of the beast—he couldn’t even tell what part he’d hit—and it disappeared into the murky depth of the pond.</p><p><br/> Dean started toward the surface, his lungs burning and the rest of him freezing.  Ash caught up to him and helped to push him forward, nudging him upward.  As he broke through the thin film of ice that had developed, he felt hands grabbing him, and hooked an arm around Ash’s barrellike chest as they pulled him out to keep from losing her.  He collapsed onto the ice, gasping for air as he felt his clothes freeze onto his skin.  Ash staggered to her feet but couldn’t manage to stand up properly.  She couldn’t feel her paws at all, and her legs were almost completely numb.  Dean went to grab her, but there were already more hands guiding him off the pond and onto the snow, pulling off his frozen shirt as voices shouted for him to roll.  </p><p><br/> “Get your clothes off and roll around,” a calm, middle-aged woman said.  “I used to be an EMT.  Rule one of falling in the ice: Roll in snow to dry off.  But you’ve got to get your pants and shoes off.  Fast.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s fingers went to his belt buckle, but they didn’t want to work properly.  Had he been under the ice for that long?</p><p><br/> Sensing his problem, the woman grabbed his belt and unfastened it quickly.  This alarmed Dean for a moment until he realized he was too damn cold to care, and let her rip his pants and boots off.  She let him keep his boxers, at least.  He rolled until the woman stopped him, then more hands were wrapping him in blankets (a mismatch of old quilts and picnic blankets people had in their cars).  He looked around for Ash and was relieved to see her rolling around in snow as well.  The puppy that had caused trouble at the ice hockey game earlier thought that she wanted to play, and ran over to pounce on her.  </p><p><br/> People were running in all directions, taking only seconds to arrange rides to the hospital for the kids and shouting thanks to Dean and his dog.  There were also shouts about the creepy horror-film hand that almost everyone had seen tear through the ice and grab a child.  It was pandemonium.</p><p><br/> “Let me give you a ride to the hospital,” said the man who’d helped haul him out.  </p><p><br/> “No.  Thank you.  I need to get my dog back to where we’re staying, I can take care of both of us from there.”</p><p><br/> “If you’re sure.  Where you at?”</p><p><br/> “That little B&amp;B near the inflatable dragons…Uh…”</p><p><br/> “Oh, Anna’s place!  Sure!”  He gestured for him to follow.</p><p><br/> Dean picked up Ash, who was still having trouble walking, and gratefully hopped in the man’s pickup.  </p><p><br/> “You need anything, you give me a call,” the man said, handing him his card.  “That’s my work cell, I keep it on me all the time.  You and your dog, you saved those kids tonight.  This town owes you one.”</p><p><br/> Dean opened his mouth to brush off the thanks, and started coughing painfully.</p><p><br/> “You might get pneumonia; you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”</p><p><br/> He shook his head.  “Dog,” he said, motioning to the shivering lump on his lap.  </p><p><br/> Ash whined.  If you need help, don’t worry about me, she wanted to say.  He seemed to get the idea from the look she gave him, anyway.</p><p><br/> “I’m fine.” </p><p><br/> The truck cab hadn’t even heated up by the time they pulled up to the B&amp;B.  The man helped Dean and the dog into his room, handing him the wad of his frozen clothes.  <br/> As soon as the man was gone, Dean stumbled on numb feet over to the shower, letting it heat up without getting too hot (which, a tiny part of his brain remembered, was bad if you had hypothermia).  He ditched the damp blanket around his shoulders and pried off his frozen boxers, wrapping a towel around his waist.  With his numb fingers barely functioning, it took him three tries to get the towel to actually stay in place.  </p><p><br/>While he waited for the water to heat up, he turned his attention back to Ash, who was huddled where he’d left her on the floor.  She had a lot of blood frozen to the fur on her left side, and there were four gashes across her face where the Bleaken had slashed her.</p><p><br/> “Ash?”  His voice was hoarse.  “You okay?”  </p><p><br/> Her nose wrinkled and for a moment her whole body seemed to ripple, and he realized she was trying to shift but couldn’t.  She was so cold, she couldn’t move on a cellular level, or however the hell it worked.  She stood and shook herself off, sending little shards of ice pinging across the floor and bouncing off walls.  <br/> “Shower.  Now,” he ordered, picking her back up and setting her down on the bathroom floor.  </p><p><br/> The dog grumbled.  Don’t you know dogs hate baths?  But she was still shivering, and too tired and cold to shift and besides, she was supposed to obey Dean like she obeyed Crowley.</p><p><br/> Dean coughed up half a lung into the sink, but it didn’t seem to do much for his voice.  “It’s not weird,” he said, glaring at his reflection in the mirror, sounding like Darth Vader as a chain smoker.  “You’re just taking a shower with your dog.  People do it all the time.”  He noticed the claw marks the Bleaken had left on his shoulder, and touched them experimentally.  There were splinters of wood sticking out—that was a new one.  “Your dog just happens to be a human-ish chick, too.”</p><p><br/> Ash made a strangled noise that was probably supposed to be a bark, but thanks to her own messed up vocal cords came out sounding like she was going to hurl.<br/> Dean glanced down at her, then moved to check the water temperature.  It wasn’t as warm as he would have liked, but it was a safe temperature that would warm him up gradually without the risk of passing out.  He went to drop his towel and froze: Although Ash had sort of seen his junk when he’d been drugged by the Leviathans, that didn’t mean he was cool with being totally naked with her in a shower.  Or anywhere.  Also, his balls had retreated so far into his body, he may as well have been pre-pubescent, and if a chick—even one currently in the shape of a dog—was going to see The Goods, even in a non-sexual context, it wasn’t going to be when he had the worst case of shrinkage in his life.  He shuffled out of the bathroom and located a dry pair of underwear from his bag, then spent a solid minute struggling to put them on.  <br/> “I’m n-n-not making a pass at you,” Dean said, his teeth chattering unexpectedly, “But you need to get in the shower with me.”</p><p><br/> Ash begrudgingly stepped into the shower, flattening her ears as she was pelted with warm water.  Dean stepped in behind her, and they shuffled around a little until they found a position where Dean wasn’t just completely blocking the water from hitting her.  The heat felt amazing, but it also burned a little as their almost frostbitten extremities began to thaw.  Every few minutes, Ash would shake herself off, sending more ice crystals flying, until finally her fur had completely melted.  </p><p><br/> Dean gradually turned the heat up until the bathroom was filled with steam, and he was still shivering.  He knew he wasn’t supposed to get too hot too fast, but he couldn’t help himself: He could have been standing in Hell, and he still would have been cold.  Soon, though, he felt nauseous and light-headed, and had to get out of the shower.  Ash followed suit, and while Dean went in search of another pair of dry boxers, she shook herself off and shifted.  Shifting with the wound in her side was painful, and once in her human skin it started to bleed again.  She realized she didn’t have any clothes nearby (they were all out in the room with Dean), so she did her best to wrap a towel around herself, but she didn’t understand how Dean had gotten his to stay in place (maybe it was easier around the waist than the chest, she wondered).  She settled on holding it up with one hand, using the other to press against the knife wound.  The placement of it wasn’t ideal; on her human body, it appeared on her side about an inch below her rib cage and curved around to her back. </p><p><br/> Dean was already building a fire in the fireplace when she stepped out of the bathroom.  He glanced over at her and looked surprised to see her in human form.  “Hey, you’re all thawed out!” he croaked.  He sounded better than he had before, but it still sounded like his lungs were full of phlegm.  </p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  “Cold,” she said, her voice cracking.</p><p><br/> “Yeah, me too.”  He looked around for a lighter.  He could move his fingers now, but they still felt stiff and almost numb.  “There’s a coffee machine on the counter—do you know how to use one?”</p><p><br/> She gave the contraption a blank look.  “I can probably figure it out…”</p><p><br/> “Uh.  Never mind.  Can—”  He stopped as a coughing fit took over.  “Can you make a fire?”</p><p><br/> She perked up, nodding.  As Dean went to make coffee, Ash knelt in front of the fireplace.  She pushed out with her power, and the fire-starter log ignited.  <br/> Dean joined her in front of the fire while he waited for his coffee, bringing a blanket.  “So, this is going to sound…”  He shrugged, hacking and coughing some more.  His shoulder throbbed where the Bleaken had slashed at him, and he grabbed his own towel to staunch the flow of blood.  “Ugh.  What was I saying?  Oh.  Right.  We need to…Huddle together.  To warm up.”  Another cough.  He hacked up a wad of phlegm and spat it onto the fire.  “It’s recommended that people…Huddle…Naked, but given the circumstances I think underwear is preferable—”</p><p><br/> Ash made a face.  “I…Don’t have any.”</p><p><br/> Dean blinked owlishly.  The part of his brain that was responsible for libido lit up and sounded an alarm, but the rest of him quickly silenced it by thinking, Shape-shifting Demonic Hybrid.  “…Ah.”  </p><p><br/> “It’s…It just gets in the way with shifting, and I’m not normally human anyway…”</p><p><br/> “…Right.”  He thought for a moment.  “Okay.  You can use my boxers, I guess, if I have any dry ones left.  And…You have a t-shirt, don’t you?”</p><p><br/> She nodded. Dean patched his shoulder up while Ash dressed; she kept the towel pressed against her wound, as it started bleeding again when she removed it.  She sat down in front of the fire again, and Dean joined her shortly, bringing coffee and his laptop.  He wrapped the blanket around both of them like a cocoon, with just their heads and his hands sticking out.</p><p><br/> Getting his laptop set up was a struggle; his hands still didn’t want to work properly.  He gave up trying to type normally and resorted to poking at one key at a time with his index fingers, eventually pulling up Blazing Saddles on Netflix.  As he started extolling the greatness of cowboys and Westerns to Ash in his new raspy, phlegmy voice, Sam called.</p><p><br/> “So, according to the news, a guy and his dog rescued a bunch of kids that fell into a frozen pond.  That wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”</p><p><br/> Dean laughed and started coughing.</p><p><br/> “What the hell happened?”</p><p><br/> He gave a brief overview of their evening.</p><p><br/> “You’re okay now?  You didn’t get frostbite?” said Mother Sam.</p><p><br/> “I’m fine.  And Ash is fine.  We’re just cold.”</p><p><br/> “You should huddle together to stay w—”</p><p><br/>“We are.  It’s not the first time I’ve fallen through ice, Sammy.”</p><p><br/>Sam was quiet for a moment as he focused on exiting the interstate.  Then he chuckled.  “Bet driving sixteen hours straight doesn’t sound so bad now.”</p><p><br/> “Shut up.”</p><p> </p><p> Ash was tired.  The adrenaline she’d felt during the rescue and fight had worn off, and all that remained was the cold.  She wanted to shift back into a dog: Her fur would be warmer, and she wouldn’t feel that awkwardness from being so close to Dean as a human.  Why it was awkward, she didn’t want to think about.  Part of it may have been a bit of a residual bad energy from when he’d been drugged and tried to fuck her, and that was fair.  It certainly wasn’t awkward because she was attracted to him, because she wasn’t.  And even if she was, (which she wasn’t,) he still thought of her as a monster.  Plus, Crowley would make her life Hell (literally) if she so much as batted an eyelash at him.  But as awkward as she might feel, she didn’t think she had enough energy to shift again.  (Author’s Note: For the humans wondering what this felt like, energy-wise, imagine the following scenario: You do as many pushups as you can.  You wait a moment.  Then you do as many as you can again.  And one more time, as many as you can.  While you’re still in the pushup position, having just done the last one you could muster, your gym teacher comes along and says, “just one more.”  You sink down, but can’t push back up.  You try again, and your muscles give out and your nose smashes into the floor.  That’s what it’s like for Ash to shift when she’s exhausted.)</p><p><br/> Dean got up to throw more logs on the fire and grab a bottle of whiskey from his bag.  The coffee was good (well, it was hot at least), but sobriety was not a state of mind that he particularly enjoyed, and didn’t alcohol warm you up anyway?  Since he didn’t have a glass, he took a swig straight from the bottle; Sam wasn’t here to yell at him about backwash.  </p><p><br/> “Want some?” he asked, getting back under the blanket.</p><p><br/> Ash shook her head.  “I’m not allowed to drink, after—never mind.”</p><p><br/> Dean looked at her in surprise.  “Can you get drunk?  I thought all angels and demons—”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, that’s what Crowley thought, too.  But he wanted to know for sure, ‘cause why not, right?”  She shrugged.  “Turns out I can get drunk, and…I’m not supposed to.”<br/> When it didn’t look like she was about to share the rest of the story, Dean prompted her: “So?  What happened?”</p><p><br/> “I made it rain eels.  I don’t know how; I didn’t mean to.  And a couple people may have turned into alligators.  Temporarily.  All the leaves fell off the trees, though the eels could’ve been partly to blame for that.”</p><p><br/> “I remember that!  Gary, Indiana.  We never figured out what caused all that crap.”</p><p><br/> Ash coughed, wincing at the pain in her side.  “We were lucky the angels didn’t notice.  I think there was a war going on in Heaven at the time.”</p><p><br/> “Did you know about the goats?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.</p><p><br/> “Farmer found a…A Siamese goat in his field.  Joined at the ribs, so it looked like two goats standing real close together.  But each one had two heads, so really there was one extra-wide goat with eight legs and four heads.  Dude didn’t even have goats before that.  He bred sheep.”  Ash laughed, and Dean took another swig from the bottle.  “So.  No booze, no sex, no killing people—hard to believe you’re half-demon with that kinda lifestyle.”</p><p><br/> She glared at him.  “Yeah, well, someone’s got to save the world, and it can’t always be you.”  She looked back at the computer screen, resting her head on her knees.  “That’s assuming I don’t destroy it with eels first.”  </p><p><br/> Dean snorted out a laugh.  “Well, you did good today at least.”  </p><p><br/>Ash coughed again and pressed the towel harder against the wound.  Dean seemed to notice her makeshift compress for the first time.</p><p><br/> “You’re still bleeding.  You didn’t heal when you shifted?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “Silver doesn’t heal.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Right.”  All the first-aid supplies were still scattered around the bathroom sink; it wouldn’t be hard to grab them.  He was feeling slightly guilty about assuming she was going to attack the kids earlier, and (very) slightly guilty about trying to attack her when the Leviathans drugged him (Sam was definitely starting to get to him).  It was also his fault she’d been cut in first place, so he might as well be the one to patch her up.  “Let me see.”</p><p><br/> Ash hesitated; she didn’t like the idea of being very nearly naked next to him (even though she was almost always naked around him to some extent).  But he’d given her an order, so she begrudgingly pulled her shirt up, stopping just beneath her chest,and removed the towel, wiping away as much blood from the edge of the cut as she could.  Dean took one look at it and went to grab his supplies.  </p><p><br/> “Can you lie down on your side?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/>As she moved, he set out gauze and medical tape.  He tried putting gloves on, but his fingers were still stiff enough to make it more of a challenge than it was worth.  She was supernatural—she probably couldn’t give him any blood-borne diseases, right?  Anyway, he’d been exposed to so much shit over the years, what was one more thing?  <br/> Ash flinched when he pressed a piece of gauze over her ribcage.  </p><p><br/> “I know.  Sorry,” Dean mumbled, trying to tear a piece of tape off the roll.  He had Ash hold the gauze in place while he tore the tape with his teeth, since his hands were no help at all.  Gradually, he worked his way across the entire wound, wasting as much tape as he used, since his tearing method tended to result in it sticking to itself and ruining it.  When he was done, he wrapped the blanket around both of them again and reached for the whiskey.  It was warming him up better than the coffee had, and it was helping him forget the feeling of the Bleaken’s twiggy fingers holding him underwater as he struggled not to drown.  “Why did you jump in the pond?”</p><p><br/> Ash shrugged.  “I saw it happening before any of the humans did.  I got there first.  Besides, if you’d done it, you’d have frozen before you got them all out.”</p><p><br/> He hadn’t thought about that—what would he have done without her?  He would have come up with some kind of plan, like he always did, but it wouldn’t have worked half as well.  The Abomination was proving to be more useful all the time, which just made it all the more tragic that Crowley would eventually order her to turn on them.  Although, if she really isn’t allowed to kill people, she can’t kill us, he mused.  Still, there were lots of ways to destroy the Winchesters without killing them, as countless monsters had proved again and again.  </p><p><br/> By the time Blazing Saddles was over, Dean was feeling more like himself, though his fingers were still stiff, and he was trying to avoid looking at his feet just in case his toes had fallen off without him noticing.  He was also having doubts about the return of his testicles, which at this point he feared might require surgical retrieval given how far they’d retreated into his body.  But overall, he didn’t feel so bad, probably in large part thanks to the whiskey.  Ash was still shivering, though, and her skin was still icy.  <br/> “We should get some sleep,” Dean announced, wincing and groaning as he tried standing up on stiff legs.  “Sam should get back early tomorrow, and I’ve got to convince the whole damn town that mistletoe will protect their kids.”</p><p><br/> Ash yawned and started to lay down on her side.  She didn’t want to leave the warmth of the fire to move to Sam’s bed, which seemed so far away.</p><p><br/> Dean nudged her with his foot (purple toes, he noticed; why were they still purple?).  “Hey.  Don’t make me carry you.”</p><p><br/> She blinked, sitting back up.  “Huh?”</p><p><br/> “I’m not sleeping on the floor.  I’m too old for that crap.  Come on; bed.  Warm.”</p><p><br/> Ash groaned and unfolded stiffly until she was standing.  Were they still huddling, then?  It was weird enough on the floor, but…In bed?  But Dean doesn’t think of you like that, she reminded herself.  You are what he kills.  In his hierarchy of people he can sleep with, you’re below fat girls, drug addicts, vegans, and men.  He’s so uninterested in you that this probably isn’t any more awkward for him than sharing a bed with his brother. </p><p><br/> Dean paused halfway around the bed, teeth chattering as he shivered.  He could see that Ash was uncomfortable with the arrangement.  “You know I’d never—What happened with the leviathans, that wasn’t…I would never try to take advantage of you.”</p><p><br/> Ash crossed her arms.  “Yes, you’ve made your feelings on monsters very clear.”</p><p><br/> “That’s not…”  He trailed off and sighed, which triggered a coughing fit.  When he finally caught his breath, he continued: “You can stay by the fire if you want.  I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p><br/> The Nephilim shivered.  She’d warm up eventually, and her body would heal itself.  But Dean could get really sick if he didn’t warm up properly.  Maybe even permanently damage his extremities, which would put a real damper on his career as a hunter.  </p><p><br/> “I’m fine,” she said, sitting down on Dean’s bed.  She got under the blanket, feeling awkward.  She should be at the foot of the bed, or at least on top of the blankets, her paws folded under her and her nose against the tip of her tail.  She flipped onto her side, facing to the outside edge of the bed.  She felt the mattress dip with Dean’s weight as he lay down next to her.</p><p><br/> “If I accidentally grope you in my sleep, I’m sorry,” he said.  “It’s sort’ve a reflex when there’s a chick in bed next to me.  Just smack me if I start getting handsy.”<br/> Ash spun her head around to glare at him.  “I will freaking bite you—”  She cut herself off mid-sentence, her sudden movement aggravating her wound.<br/> He raised his hands in a placating gesture.  “Okay, okay!  Just don’t bite my shoulder, the damn Bleaken got to it already.”   </p><p><br/> She turned away from him again, tucking her legs up into her chest for warmth.  Dean put his arm around her waist, carefully avoiding the knife wound, and pulled her against him.  He worried for a moment about getting a hard-on in the middle of the night and how offended Ash would be if she felt Little Dean poking her; but then he remembered that, thanks to the pond, he was about the size of a Raisinette and unlikely to offend anyone.  </p><p><br/>Ash tensed at his touch, her back going stiff against his chest.  But he was warm, relatively speaking, and she soon found herself snuggling up to him—no, huddling, she corrected herself.  Dean would not ‘snuggle’ with the Abomination.</p><p><br/> This wasn’t horrible, Dean thought.  A bit weird, but weird was normal for him.  Sleeping snuggled up to a half-angel, half-demon wasn’t something he’d anticipated happening in his lifetime, but at least he hadn’t had sex with her, so morally he was still better than Sam.  And while he still wasn’t sure he believed that she wasn’t allowed to kill humans, at least she hadn’t killed any humans so far that he knew of, and now she’d even saved at least five of them.  He’d been trying to avoid forming any sort of attachment to her (knowing it would make it harder to kill her in the end), but he had to admit he’d grown rather fond of her.  She had all the best traits of a dog: Loyal, friendly, loving, eager to please—without all the usual work that went into one, like training and cleaning up after it and having to take it for walks every day.  All she needed was a bit of supervision to make sure she wasn’t going to kill anyone or destroy the universe.  Against all logic and likelihood, Crowley appeared to have gifted them with an actual ally.  For now.</p><p><br/> Ash gradually allowed herself to relax more, letting gravity pull her back against the human.  Something about this position, being held like she was loved, like she mattered, was both wonderful and horrible at the same time.  Wonderful because it was all she ever wanted in life, and horrible because she knew it wasn’t real, that she was only in this position because Dean said it was the best way to stay warm.  She just wanted what Sam and Dean had, that connection with somebody.  She didn’t even have that with Crowley.  It wasn’t his fault; after all, he was a demon.  It’s hard to form a meaningful connection with anyone after your soul’s been tortured and mutilated.  And it’s hard to form a meaningful connection with anyone when you’re a shapeshifting angel-demon that’s supposed to help Lucifer destroy the world.  <br/> Dean’s arm shifted, putting pressure on her wound.  She hissed in pain, twisting back slightly to alleviate the pressure.  </p><p><br/> “Sorry,” Dean said, moving his arm.  “You okay?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  They were both silent for a while, but Ash could tell from his breathing that Dean was still awake.  Right.  Nothing awkward about this at all.</p><p><br/> “How…How accurate does the lore tend to be on this kind of stuff?  The Bleaken, I mean,” Ash asked finally.  “I mean…What’re the chances the kids it’s taken are still alive, and he didn’t just…”</p><p><br/> Dean started to talk, choked on phlegm, and coughed into the back of Ash’s shoulder.  “Sorry.  The lore tends to be pretty accurate.  I mean, it’s the internet, so who really knows, but Sam’s good at picking out the facts from all the crap people make up.  Those kids are gonna be fine.  Well, scarred for life, maybe, but alive.”  He coughed again, managing to turn his head away this time.  “You…Care, don’t you?  You’re worried about them.”  He sounded confused and surprised, like he’d just learned that cockroaches were good at math.  Why should a demonic Nephilim, raised by Crowley, give a crap about a bunch of human kids?</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  “I had a kid—Well, not me personally, but there was a kid I lived with—and she was really great.  Amelia.  She was…Six, I think, when I met her.  She freakin’ loved me.  I slept at the foot of her bed, played with her every day, was there for her when she got home from school.  She believed in dragons and unicorns, thought she could become a mermaid if she stayed in the water long enough, and she wasn’t worried about shit like getting killed or kidnapped, or all the other horrible things that humans do to each other.  So I pretended to be a dragon with her, or a unicorn, and I looked out for her, made sure nothing bad happened to her because she couldn’t look out for herself.”  </p><p><br/>Amelia’s father had made a deal with Crowley years ago: His wife wanted to have a baby, her own baby, but after years of trying they’d failed, even after spending thousands on IVF.  It was so important to her that the man sold his soul for it, and Amelia was born.  When Ash came into the picture years later, Crowley needed a safe place to hide her on Earth, since everyone in Hell would have tried to take her for themselves or even kill her.  So he went to this man, who now had three years left on his contract, and made another deal with him: Take care of my dog, and you can have your soul back.  Keep her safe until I need her, and you can watch your precious little girl grow up.  The man accepted, naturally, and Ash had several happy years with that family, with occasional visits from Crowley to work with her.  </p><p><br/>  Dean pushed a stray lock of her hair out of his face.  “You’re full of surprises, kid.”</p><p><br/> Ash let out a chuckle that turned into a hacking cough.  “Good surprises, or…?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.”  He thought about the possibilities and added, “So far.”</p><p> </p><p> Ash woke up the next morning when Sam returned.  He tromped inside, stamping snow off his shoes, carrying a large cardboard box.  It took her a moment to remember not only where she was, but what she was, making her exit from the bed rather ungraceful as her brain worked out how many legs she had.  She ended up tilting face-first into the floor before she was able to fully gain control of her form.  As she scrambled awkwardly to her feet, she could already smell what was in the box.  Poison.<br/> “Uh,” Sam said, glancing from Ash to Dean.  </p><p><br/>Dean yawned and buried his head under a pillow.  “Close the damn door, Sam, it’s cold!”</p><p>  Sam kicked the door shut behind him.  “You, uh…You good?”</p><p><br/> The pillow moved slightly.  “Peachy.  What time is it?”</p><p><br/> “Six thirty.”</p><p><br/> “Cool.  You must be tired.  Let’s all go back to sleep.”</p><p><br/> Sam set the box down on a table and went to take the pillow off his brother’s head.  “We have work to do.  Remember?  Mistletoe?  Bleaken?”</p><p><br/> “He’s not goin’ anywhere,” Dean grumbled.  “And I’m pretty sure the guy only comes out at night, so there’s no reason we can’t sleep in.”</p><p><br/> Ash opened her mouth to protest the mistletoe, but her stomach clenched, and she had to dart to the bathroom to vomit.  She wasn’t sure if it was the presence of the toxic plant that made her uneasy, or the gallons of pond water she’d swallowed the night before, or maybe a side effect from being in the cold for so long, but she quite suddenly felt like crap.  </p><p><br/> When her stomach finished seizing, she rinsed her mouth out and sat down on the floor, slumped against the wall next to the open door.  Sam appeared in the doorway and squatted down next to her.  </p><p><br/> “You’re sick?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “I think I’m okay now.”  All the heaving and coughing had aggravated the wound on her side, which now smarted like a bitch.  “Could…Could you just check to see if I’m bleeding again?” she asked, pulling her shirt up over the bandage.</p><p><br/> “Can’t you heal yourself?”</p><p><br/> “Not from silver.”</p><p><br/> “When did you get stabbed with silver?!”</p><p><br/> “Last night.  I got nicked by accident.”</p><p><br/> Sam peeled back the gauze.  “That’s more than a nick.”</p><p><br/> “It doesn’t take much, with silver.”</p><p><br/> “Well, it’s not bleeding.  That’ll heal eventually, right?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Long as I don’t do anything stupid, like roll around in a bunch of mistletoe,” she smiled.</p><p><br/> “Right.  I guess you won’t be much help today, then.”</p><p><br/> “I can sniff around town, try to find out where it takes the kids.”</p><p><br/> Satisfied that Ash wasn’t under some kind of curse from the bleaken, Sam retrieved coffees from the car in the hope that he could coax Dean out of bed.  Dean was relieved that his fingers and toes had feeling in them again, and were a normal color.  His throat was sore and his lungs felt like they might have some water left in them, but he felt much better.  Ash stayed on the bathroom floor for another minute, waiting to see if she felt like hurling again.  She went to stand up, her stomach clenched again, and she pitched back over the toilet.  Fantastic.  As she rinsed her mouth out once more, she looked at her reflection in the mirror: Paler than usual, a little sweaty, and her eyes looked…Dim.  She staggered out of the bathroom and leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was seated on the floor.  </p><p><br/> Dean frowned at her.  “You gonna make it, kid?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “You guys go do your thing.  I’m just gonna sit here for a sec, and I’ll get going.”</p><p><br/> “You can stay here if you—”</p><p><br/> “I’m not letting a walking tree beat me,” she snapped.  “I’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p> Sam and Dean set out to ‘spread Christmas cheer’ by giving away mistletoe to every home, particularly homes that visibly contained small children.  Most people seemed happy to accept the offering, though a few were a bit weirded out and declined.  Dean got slapped by a young mom who thought he was coming on to her (and, to be fair, he was being flirty), but aside from that incident their day went smoothly.  It was, to be honest, quite boring, though Sam was going to cherish the memory of Dean getting slapped for years to come.  </p><p><br/> Ash, meanwhile, found a deer trail in the woods just outside of town, and followed it to an abandoned Santa-themed amusement park.  It was a long shot to expect the Bleaken would hang out with actual deer, but it would have been the best way to disguise itself.  Besides, she didn’t have any other leads, so she might as well see what the deer were up to.  The trail weaved through the park, around creepy dilapidated carnival rides and ‘Santa’s House’ with a caved-in roof, before heading back into the woods.  Eventually, the trail crossed a highway, then curved around a lake dotted with seasonal cabins.  A few cabins had snowmobiles parked outside, and smoke rose from their chimneys; but the roads hadn’t been plowed, and for the most part the lake was quiet and deserted.  At this point, the deer trail divided into individual tracks—each deer had gone off on its own around the camps in search of discarded food left by the humans.  She checked as many of the camps as she could before night fell, then made her way back to town to rejoin the boys.  </p><p><br/> They both stunk of mistletoe.  She knew the plant didn’t smell like much to humans, but to her it had a bitter, almost rotten odor.  Just being close to them made her nauseous again.  </p><p><br/> “I’m starving,” Dean announced.  “Let’s hit up that weird diner, see if it’s any good.”</p><p><br/> “The one with the giant snowman out front?”</p><p><br/> “No, the one that looks like Santa’s workshop, with the reindeer and the sleigh on the roof.  Sign said they have a venison burger.”</p><p><br/> “You’re not going to take a shower first?” Ash asked hopefully.</p><p><br/> Dean sniffed his armpit.  “You sayin’ we stink?”</p><p><br/> “You smell like mistletoe.  It’s…Bad.”</p><p><br/> “Really?”  He shrugged.  “Alright.  Sammy, you’re up first.  It takes longer to dry your pretty princess hair.”</p><p><br/> His brother glared at him, but got in the shower.  Ash stepped outside to get some fresh air; she hadn’t thought mistletoe would affect her this much.  She knew Crowley used it on her sometimes, and she’d feel sick; of course, he hadn’t also shoved her in ice water for several minutes and stabbed her with silver.</p><p> <br/> She could still smell the offending plant as they drove to the diner, but most of that was due to the remaining pieces of mistletoe stashed in the trunk.  Sam and Dean smelled mostly like Sam and Dean, though she knew the oils from the plant would linger in their skin for a while longer.  </p><p><br/> The restaurant was over-the-top Christmas, with the aforementioned giant reindeer and sleigh getup on the roof, twinkling icicle lights along the eaves, and a garish overabundance of decorations in the windows.  Ash was mortified to find mistletoe hanging in the doorway as they entered, shuddering slightly as she passed under it.  <br/> “Yeah, get used to it,” Dean said. “It’s everywhere now.”</p><p><br/> A cheery but tired-looking waitress appeared, dressed like an elf, complete with a large jingle bell on the end of her long pointy hat.  “Oh, it’s you guys,” she said.  “You brought the mistletoe, right?  That’s so sweet!  I love watching people’s reactions when they see it.  I mean, who doesn’t love mistletoe?”</p><p><br/> Ash snorted; Dean kicked her under the table.  </p><p><br/> “We’re glad you like it,” Sam said, smiling at the waitress.</p><p><br/> Dean ordered his venison burger, which was enormous and amazing; Sam ordered a grilled chicken salad, which was boring and healthy; and Ash ordered soup, which was plain and boring and the only thing she figured she could digest with her stomach being on the fritz.  Sam broke down and tried Dean’s burger.</p><p><br/> “It tastes like a regular burger.”</p><p><br/> “What?!  You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean chided him.  “It’s completely different.  The venison is more gamey.  It’s a totally different flavor profile.”<br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  “Okay.  You’re the expert.”</p><p><br/> “How many houses did you guys get to?” Ash asked, changing the subject back to work.</p><p><br/> “123,” Sam answered.  “That includes businesses like this one that we figured get a lot of kids.”</p><p><br/> “It was like reverse trick-or-treating.  Except instead of asking strangers to give you candy, you’re trying to convince them to take something they don’t really want,” Dean added.  “And we get to do it again tomorrow.”</p><p><br/> Ash watched an older couple pause by the door and kiss under the mistletoe.  It was an odd tradition the humans had invented, kissing under a parasitic plant, but she supposed it had its own kind of weird human charm to it.  It was more charming if you had someone to kiss, otherwise you couldn’t help but feel a bit left out, she decided.  Their waitress, for example, was hoping to catch Dean under the mistletoe, judging by the way she was eyeing him.  Ash kind of wanted to smack her in the face—not that she wanted to kiss Dean, because that would have been ridiculously inappropriate, but she couldn’t help feeling strangely territorial about him.  </p><p><br/> Not only did the waitress kiss him as they were leaving, she also gave him her number.  Ash sulked on the ride home and continued to sulk back in their room, lying down on Sam’s bed while Sam and Dean spent the better part of an hour arguing over a map of the area and where the Bleaken might be hiding out.</p><p><br/> Growing tired of their Where’s the Bleaken game, Dean got up from the table and seemed to notice Ash for the first time.  “You alright, kid?” </p><p><br/> “Fine.  Just…Tired.”  </p><p><br/> “Still feelin’ sick?  You should take it easy tomorrow.”  He grabbed his coat.</p><p><br/> “You going out?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Meeting that cute waitress when she gets off work—Danielle, I think.”</p><p><br/> Ash huffed, pretending to cough when Sam glanced over at her.</p><p><br/> “Don’t wait up for me.  You guys can have a girls’ night, braid each other’s hair or whatever it is you do when I’m not here.”</p><p><br/> “Jerk.”</p><p><br/> “Bitch.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> With Dean gone, Sam turned his attention to Ash.  “Mind telling me why you’re sulking like the one girl who didn’t get asked to prom?”  </p><p><br/> Ash narrowed her eyes.  “What?”</p><p><br/>  “Look, I get it—it’s okay to be jealous.  It’s human.  Makes you more relatable.  It must be frustrating, though, reconciling your loyalty to Crowley when you have a thing for Dean—”</p><p><br/> Ash sat up straight, eyes narrowed and glowing bright.  Sam suddenly found himself halfway across the room, knocked back on his ass, though Ash hadn’t so much as raised a finger toward him.  Sam did a quick mental inventory of weaponry on his person: He had a silver knife and a gun with regular bullets, but he didn’t want to use either on her unless he absolutely had to.  Clearly, he’d struck the nail on the head with the whole Dean situation, and she was just more sensitive about it than he’d expected.  <br/> “Okay,” he said calmly, “That’s fair.”  </p><p><br/> “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.  Sam had gotten back to his feet and was now sitting at the table, so she sat down across from him.  “I didn’t mean to—it just sort of…Happened.  I don’t even know how—”</p><p><br/> “It’s okay.”</p><p><br/> Ash glared down at her hands on the table.  “I don’t have a ‘thing’ for Dean.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, clearly.  That’s why you weren’t upset when I brought it up.”</p><p><br/> Her glare rose to meet Sam’s grin.  “That’s not—I wasn’t—”  She groaned in frustration.  “Look, I can’t have a thing for him.  It’s a conflict of interest.”</p><p><br/> Sam chuckled.  “Oh, it’s that simple?  You only like the people you’re supposed to like?”</p><p><br/> Her eyes narrowed further.  “Yes.”  When he laughed at her again, she continued: “Neither of you would hesitate to kill me if you even thought I posed a threat.  So it would be pretty foolish of me to get attached to you.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s grin faded, and he leaned back in his chair thoughtfully.  “But you are attached to us, and that bothers you.  Even though this is what Crowley wants, you still feel…What?  Guilty?  Because you see his enemies as your friends.  And you know there’s going to be a time when you have to choose between us, and you’re afraid of what you’ll choose…”</p><p><br/> Ash shivered.  “You went to school for psychology, didn’t you?”</p><p><br/> “Law, actually.”</p><p><br/> “So you’re putting me on trial?”</p><p><br/> “I’m just…Trying to help.  Talking stuff out helps, Ash.  Dean keeps everything bottled up, and it just makes him break down or explode.”  He gave her a pointed look.  “I can’t afford to have you explode.”  </p><p><br/> Ash looked back down at her hands, embarrassed about her earlier outburst.</p><p> <br/> “I’m not trying to shame you for anything.  I just know you look at Dean differently.  You get jealous when he flirts with someone, and you go full-on angsty teen when he goes home with them.”</p><p><br/> “Don’t know why I care,” she grumbled.  “He’s just an angry, emotionally constipated, functioning alcoholic.  His primary life skills involve killing and torturing monsters—which, by the way, I am.  And even if—if—I was somehow attracted to him, which I’m not, it’s not like I could do anything about it.  He has a type, and I’m not it.”<br/> Sam snorted back a laugh.  He’d seen Dean go for all sorts of chicks—if the bar was dark enough and he was drunk enough, ‘attractiveness’ became a relative term.  Obviously, a nice rack was the first thing Dean went for (which Ash, admittedly, didn’t have—not that there was anything wrong with smaller breasts, it’s just that, hey, bigger is better), followed by a decent ass (which Ash actually did have, thanks to her athletic build), and long, flexible legs (not Ash).  But, as cliché as it sounded and as loathe as Dean would be to admit it, Sam knew his brother was really into a girl with spirit.  He’d spent two hours at a bar wearing down a flat-chested girl with a glass eye because she’d hustled him at his own game of hustling pool.  He’d been so into her they’d spent an extra night in whatever that town was, just so he could see her again.  It was the only time Dean had ever been responsible for breaking something in the Impala, too—one of those grips on the ceiling you can hang clothes from had fallen off, and when Sam had pointed this out the next day Dean had just grinned.  </p><p><br/> “How do you know you’re not his type?”</p><p><br/> “I’m not human.”</p><p><br/> Sam coughed.  “Right.  The thing about monsters.”</p><p><br/> “It’s just that he’s really hung-up about you and Ruby—”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Ruby.”  He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.  “He’s pissed that I teamed up with her when he was in Hell, and we had sex—a lot of sex—and then she turned out to be evil and I never would’ve let Lucifer out of the cage if it hadn’t been for her, mistakes were made, yada yada.”  He lowered his hand.  “We make bad decisions all the time, and we deal with them.  I’m sure, if I’m still alive five years from now, I’ll manage to do something even dumber than knowingly hook up with a demon.”</p><p><br/> Ash cocked her head.  “Like team up with a shapeshifting Nephilim.”</p><p><br/> “Right.”  He reran the sentence in his mind.  “No!  No, I think in the grand scheme of things, you will not rank in the top five bad decisions we could make.”  He and Dean had already decided that they would be keeping an eye on her after the leviathans were destroyed, and not her slimy, self-serving demon master Crowley.  The universe was just safer that way—or, conversely, it could be the biggest fuck-up of their lives.  Only time would tell.  “Anyway, I wouldn’t get hung up on the whole ‘being a monster’ thing.  He didn’t seem to mind getting cozy with you last night.”</p><p><br/> Ash felt her face flush bright pink.  “That was just because we were freezing—"</p><p><br/> “Yeah, well, I’ve been in the same boat with him, and you can bet your ass he didn’t have his arm around me.”</p><p><br/> Ash bit her lip.  She wanted to slide back under the table and disappear; why was this so embarrassing?  It wouldn’t embarrass you if you didn’t really like him, she thought, then furiously decided never to think that again.  “I didn’t—He just—”</p><p><br/> “It’s okay, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it.  Not…really wrong, at least.  I was just making a point—if he really thought you were so horrible, he would’ve told you to sleep in front of the fire, or just freeze, or, at the very least, not have gotten quite so…Cuddly.”</p><p><br/> “I like cuddly,” Ash said quietly, once more fascinated by her own hands.  “Spend a few years hanging out with demons, you really start to miss being close to people.”<br/> “And that’s fine, it’s…Again, normal.  Especially since you’re as much dog as you are human.  Humanoid,” he amended.  “I’m just saying, and I can’t believe I’m saying it, you could do worse than having a thing for Dean.”  Ash sat up straight, opening her mouth to protest; he held up his hand and added, “Not that you do, because you don’t.”<br/> “No, I don’t.”</p><p><br/> “Because even if—and I’m not saying he does—but even if Dean had a thing for you, that would be bad because…?”</p><p><br/> “Crowley,” Ash said immediately.  “And even if Crowley didn’t care—which he would, because it’s Dean—Dean would care, because—” she paused and looked away.  “Because sex is important to him.  In fact, it’s usually the only significant interaction he has with women—not that I care—”</p><p><br/> A fire started spontaneously in the fireplace behind her.  She jumped up in surprise, as did Sam.  What was especially impressive about the fire, he thought, was that she’d started it without any wood.  </p><p><br/> Ash waved her hand toward the fire, trying to make it go out, but it continued to burn quite happily over the metal grating without any fuel source.  She walked over to it and blew on it, but this had no effect either; finally, Sam put it out with a glass of water.  “I think I should go to bed before I find something else to not care about,” she said.<br/> Ash changed back into a dog and curled up at the foot of Dean’s bed; Sam changed into pajama pants and brushed his teeth, surreptitiously ducking his head out of the bathroom every ten seconds to make sure nothing else was on fire or otherwise possessed.  With the room still standing, he climbed into bed and turned on the TV, landing on an old Claymation Christmas special that gave him nightmares as a kid (before he’d known about the things that gave him nightmares now).  Seeing it as an adult, it didn’t seem so creepy—it felt kind of nostalgic, in fact.  </p><p><br/> “You can come over here, you know.  The cuddling thing--It’s only weird if you’re human-shaped.”  It’s only weird if you’re human-shaped.  That being a normal sentence is just proof of how strange your life is.  Sam scooted over slightly and patted the bed next to him.</p><p><br/> Ash’s tail thumped happily; she hopped across the gap between beds and curled up at Sam’s side, completely perplexed as clay dinosaurs sang ‘here we come a waffle-ing.’</p><p>  <br/> “It’s pretty trippy, but it’s an old classic,” Sam said in its defense.  He described, not very well, how the Claymation filming process worked, then had to explain what the California Raisins were.  Thankfully, the special was over quickly, but it was replaced by something just as strange: ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town.’  Sam jumped channels until he found ‘Elf,’ which was only as weird as Will Ferrill and didn’t involve any sort of stop-motion animation.  </p><p><br/> Ash had almost managed to drift off to sleep when Sam’s voice woke her back up: “The rule is, you have to be a virgin, right?”</p><p><br/> She groaned and lifted her head.  Was he seriously not going to let the whole Dean thing die?  </p><p><br/> “Cause, I was just thinking about it, and there’s a lot of…”  He waved one hand vaguely in the air, his gaze locked on the ceiling, “stuff,” he continued weakly, “that’s sexual in nature, but doesn’t actually involve straight-up losing-one’s-virginity sex.  Not that you’d care about that,” he said quickly as he felt the air around him crackle with energy.  “It’s just a random thought.  Had absolutely nothing to do with my brother.”</p><p><br/> Ash huffed and shifted away from him slightly, but he still managed to pat her head with his freakishly long arms.  “Alright, alright, I’m dropping it.  I promise.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Ash woke to the sound of Sam’s phone going off around 1:30 am.  He grabbed it off the nightstand, not even bothering to lift his head up.</p><p><br/> “Dean?”</p><p><br/> “Sam!  I need help!”</p><p><br/> “There’s condoms in the glove box, Dean.  I’m going back to sleep,” Sam grumbled, already pulling the phone away from his ear.</p><p><br/> “What?  Sam, wake up!  I need help—it’s got her kid.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s head raised slightly; he rolled over onto his back.  “Wh—the Bleaken?  Where are you?”</p><p><br/> “Danielle’s place.  She’s got a four-year-old son.  I’d just got up to take a piss and ran into the damn thing coming out of the bathroom.  I tried to take it down, but I was in my boxers, I didn’t even have a knife on me.  I saw where it’s headed, though; you get here, we might be able to track the bastard down.”</p><p><br/> Ash jumped aside as Sam sprang out of bed, throwing on proper clothes and shoving weapons into a duffel.  </p><p><br/> “Wait—you have the car.  You should come get me.”</p><p><br/> “Bastard slashed my tires, or I would.”</p><p><br/> “Great.  How am I supposed to get to you, then?”</p><p><br/> “I don’t know—it’s only a couple miles away.  You like to run, don’t you?  I’m on Maple Street, the condo with the light-up snowman out front.”</p><p><br/> Sam hung up and finished gathering his gear, grumbling about Dean’s plan.  As he opened the door to leave, however, his face lit up.  “I have an idea.”</p><p><br/> If anyone had been awake on Main St, Frosty Ave, or Maple St, they would have been surprised to see a horse and rider galloping across town.  A reindeer would have been traditional, maybe even expected, but not a horse—and the man riding her was no St. Nick.  He did carry a bag, but the toys inside were not the sort of thing most kids would find in their stockings on Christmas morning.  </p><p><br/> “Left!” Sam snapped, and Ash jumped a small snowbank to turn onto the narrow street.  “Look for a light-up snowman—there!”</p><p><br/> Dean ran outside, followed by Danielle, who was still panicking after losing her son.  </p><p><br/> “Good thinking,” he said, nodding to the horse.  Then: “Oh crap,” as he remembered his last riding experience.  As much as he loved cowboys, he still hadn’t managed to conquer their primary mode of transportation.  </p><p><br/> Sam held his hand out, and Dean swung up behind him, trying and failing not to crush his junk as he landed.  Wincing, he turned back to Danielle.  “We’ll get him back.”<br/> She nodded, not looking confident, and watched them ride away.</p><p><br/> “Next street over,” Dean directed as the literal backseat driver.  “He ran straight back that way, into the woods.”</p><p><br/> Running through the snow proved more difficult than Ash had anticipated: Snow covered deep holes that threatened to twist her legs, and her hooves caught on buried branches and fallen trees hidden by the snow.  Sam and Dean had their own set of problems trying not to be decapitated by overhanging limbs.  </p><p><br/> “This isn’t gonna work,” Dean said after being smacked in the face for the fourth time.  “Ash can’t run in this stuff, and we can’t ride.  Let’s send her on ahead as a wolf, then we catch up if she finds something.”</p><p><br/> “How’s she going to tell us if she finds him?”</p><p><br/> Dean thought for a moment.  “Come on,” he said, dismounting from the horse.  “Ash, wolf.”</p><p><br/> When she was the appropriate shape, Dean pulled off his belt and looped it around her neck, using a bit of cord and a pouch that normally held one of their knives to create a phone case, looping his phone onto the makeshift collar like a giant dog tag.  </p><p><br/> “There.  You find him, or you find what he’s done with the kids, you call us.  Do not engage.  Understand?”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  </p><p><br/> “Alright.  Go.”</p><p><br/> She vanished into the night, staying on the course Dean had set them on.  </p><p><br/> She could move faster now: The wolf was built for this, and she didn’t have two great lunking men weighing her down.  She ran, keeping her head low as she tried to pick up the scent of balsam in a forest full of trees.  It felt good to be on the hunt again.</p><p><br/> Finding the damn thing wasn’t going to be easy, though.  It had a head start on them, didn’t leave footprints, and smelled like the trees it lived amongst.  If she really forced her nose to work, she could just detect a trace of the human child, and that was the trail she needed to follow.  She ran through the undergrowth, weaving around trees and boulders as she chased after the monster.  </p><p><br/> The trail seemed to go on forever, but she could still smell the little boy, so she kept going.  She had no idea where she was until the forest ended, and she found herself back at the abandoned amusement park she’d visited earlier.  She kicked herself mentally—he’d been here all along?  She slunk to the edge of the rusty fence and changed, grabbing Dean’s phone.</p><p><br/> “Ash!  Are you okay?  It’s been almost an hour,” Sam greeted her.</p><p><br/> “I think he’s in an abandoned amusement park.  It’s…It’s Santa-themed.  I was here the other day and didn’t find anything, but I’m gonna take another look.  There’s a lot of old buildings.”</p><p><br/> “I know where that is.  We can walk there from here, but it’s gonna take a while.”</p><p><br/> “Don’t do anything stupid,” Dean’s voice chimed in.  </p><p><br/> Ash hung Dean’s belt on the fence so she could find it later and shifted into a squirrel, using her opposable thumbs and cord from the pouch to tie the phone around her back like a turtle shell.  It wasn’t her best attempt at stealth, but she wanted to make sure the boys could track her location in case she found the kids, while still being small enough to sneak around.  </p><p><br/> There were a few old trucks by the back gate with deflated tires, and a few big pieces of wood and plastic that might have once belonged to one of the park’s rides.  Beyond them were the old water slides, now covered in snow.  Segments of slide had fallen off, and if someone had attempted to ride any of them, they would have found themselves plummeting to a premature death.  Beyond the slides was a Ferris wheel where all the little cabs were decorated in Christmas themes; a few of the cabs were missing, probably sold to an active amusement park.  Next was a little street lined with buildings about the size of a one-car garage; signs in front of them proclaimed them to be food shops like “Frosty’s Snow Cones” and “Rudolph’s Reindeer Sausages” (bad taste?).  One of the roofs had a large hole in it; Ash jumped up to look inside, and a flock of pigeons stared up at her.  She kept moving.</p><p><br/> The largest building on the property looked like a giant barn.  A sign outside invited children to “Meet San… And …is Rein…”  Ash could smell balsam, but there were a lot of dead Christmas trees poking out of the snow.  Still—if he’d captured a lot of children and they were still alive, this would be the place to put them.  She ran around the building until she found a suitable broken window and hopped inside.</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Sam and Dean got as close to the old attraction as they could with a neighbor’s hotwired Corolla, wading the rest of the way through thick unplowed snow.  The GPS on Dean’s phone hadn’t moved in the last ten minutes, meaning Ash had either found the Bleaken’s lair, lost the phone, or gotten into trouble.  </p><p><br/> They passed an old carousel with gingerbread horses and candy cane poles, then a little amphitheater, before they reached the main barn-like building where Dean’s phone was.  The doors were blocked by drifts of snow, but several windows along the side had broken panes; Sam broke enough glass with the butt of his knife to allow them to slip through.  </p><p><br/> Dean landed on the floor beside his brother.  “Ash?” he hissed.  “You here?”</p><p><br/> There was no response.  <br/> Both Winchesters grabbed their silver knives.  They had elected to leave guns behind, as they didn’t want to risk shooting any of the kids.  It would be a real bitch trying to stab the Bleaken, given his far-reaching whip fingers, but they both would rather get a little slashed up than accidentally murder one of the children they were trying to save.  Dean motioned for his brother to go right, and he would go left.  </p><p><br/> Sam found the kids first.  They were in a large central room, the one-time meeting space for Santa and his reindeer, complete with moldy bales of straw on the floor and cracked ornaments scattered everywhere.  There were close to a dozen kids, mostly boys, ranging in age from about two to twelve.  They were all chained together and seemed to be laboring under some sort of enchantment, making crude birds’ nests.  They looked up at Sam’s arrival, but couldn’t stop their movements.  <br/> Right, Sam thought.  What the hell.  “Hello?”</p><p><br/> The children’s eyes widened simultaneously and he turned to look behind himself just as the Bleaken swung at him.  The beast’s arm, solid as a tree trunk, connected with the side of his head and he slammed into the floor.  His vision swam as he scrambled back to his feet.</p><p><br/> “Dean!” he shouted.</p><p><br/> The Bleaken snarled, something Sam hadn’t thought possible with a skull for a face, and emitted a high-pitched screech.  It shot one whip-like appendage out toward his neck, squeezing his throat.  Sam sliced at the vine with his knife and the creature recoiled, hissing.  Its eyes flashed red.  </p><p><br/> The line of children stood up and stepped forward as one.  Sam lunged at the Bleaken, forcing it back.</p><p> <br/> “Sam!”</p><p><br/> It turned as Dean appeared behind it.  It whipped at Dean with one arm and Sam with the other, grabbing them both and slamming them together.  Sam’s knife clattered to the ground and skidded away from him as more hands grabbed him from behind, and he realized the creature was using the children to hold them down.  He looked to Dean, who was struggling to free himself from half a dozen tiny bodies without hurting them.  What now?</p><p><br/> Something moved in the corner, catching his eye.  What he’d thought was a child’s hat came to life and sprang forward as a squirrel, its little beady eyes glowing blue.  It leapt onto the thing’s massive skull head and swung up onto an antler, then started to grow: As it gained weight, its momentum forced the creature’s head down, and now a wolf was grappling with it on the ground.  Distracted, its magical hold on the kids lessened enough for Sam and Dean to break free.  Dean immediately set to work undoing their chains, while Sam grabbed his knife and went to help Ash.</p><p><br/> The thing about the Bleaken was it was so damn solid.  Its head was next to impossible to injure without bullets, and its body was so tough that wolf bites barely scraped the bark off it.  Ash improvised, shifting frequently to throw it off guard.  Sam attacked whenever he could, but for every time he got close to stabbing it there were twice as many times it whipped him instead.  In a desperate move, Ash became a mouse and ran inside its skull, but even biting its brain didn’t seem to hurt it, it only served to piss the thing off even more.  Sam seized the opportunity to plunge his knife into its chest, and it let out a shriek so loud and piercing it had everyone’s ears ringing.  </p><p><br/> Ash leapt away as it staggered back.  It collapsed to its knees, then began to shift, and now instead of an evil anti-Santa there was just a dead deer.  </p><p><br/> The kids all began to talk at once; Dean still had a few of their shackles left to pick, and he shouted at the line to keep still until they were free.  Sam called the police, letting them know they’d found the kidnapping victims.  Ash shifted back into a German Shepherd and joined Sam and Dean to talk to the cops as they arrived, listening to Sam talk about how she was some world-class tracking dog who miraculously was able to find the children using a shirt from Danielle’s son, or some bullshit.  </p><p><br/> The police gave them a ride back to the B&amp;B (Dean claimed the kidnapper must have hotwired the Corolla they’d used) and gave them the number of a local auto place to help them with the Impala’s tires in the morning.  </p><p><br/>Back in the warmth of their room, Dean kicked off his shoes and collapsed on his bed.  “We’re sleeping in tomorrow.”  He yawned and rolled onto his side to face Sam, who had also wasted no time in getting back into bed.  “I can’t believe they’re all okay.  When does that happen for us, ever?  When was the last time you could say nobody died?”<br/>“Yeah.  It’s a win.”  Sam patted the empty space next to him, and Ash hopped up and curled up by his side.  </p><p><br/> Dean looked at his brother, then at the dog.  Things could have gone much worse on this case, all things considered: Those kids could have frozen in the pond, or the Bleaken could have worked them all to death in its creepy little concentration camp.  He and Sam would have stopped it eventually, like they usually did, but more kids would have died in the meantime.  Ash had made their job easier—a lot easier.  He hadn’t asked her to jump into the pond.  But she’d gone in, and gotten them all out, and nearly froze herself in the process.  Maybe Crowley was telling the truth, that she wasn’t allowed to kill humans (it was just so hard to trust anything he said).  But he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop: Nothing was ever this easy for them.  Life didn’t go handing them super-powerful angel-demon hybrids without some sort of a catch—a catch that usually ended up with one of them dead or close to it, and the fate of the world at stake.  </p><p><br/> Ash felt him staring, and lifted her head up to look at him.  As soon as she caught his eye, he looked away.  Sam patted her head.</p><p><br/> “You did good today,” he told the dog.  “Dean thinks so too, he’s just too stubborn to admit it.”</p><p><br/> “Hey!” Dean snapped.  “I—Fine, yes, you helped us kill the Bleaken.”  There was a significant pause as he wrestled with the words, and then: “Thank you.”</p><p><br/> Ash made a happy little growly sound and thumped her tail.  </p><p><br/> “Holy crap—you actually—”</p><p><br/> “Go the frig to sleep, Sammy.”</p><p><br/> “Jerk.”</p><p><br/> “Bitch.”</p><p><br/> Sam, as usual, was up long before Dean.  He managed to call the auto repair shop and arrange for the Impala to be towed and re-tired, went next door with Ash to grab breakfast, and hopped in the shower before Dean finally rose from the dead.  </p><p><br/> “The town’s having a barbeque at noon to celebrate the kids being found,” Sam informed him over coffee.  “We’re invited to stop by.”</p><p><br/> “Free food?” Dean grunted, still working on getting his vocal cords to wake up.  “I’m in.”</p><p><br/> “I figured.”</p><p><br/> “And now they can take down all the mistletoe,” Ash said happily. </p><p><br/> “Oh, they’ll keep that up till after Christmas,” Sam said.  “It’s traditional.”</p><p><br/> She deflated.  “Oh.”</p><p><br/> Sam patted her shoulder.  “Still.  It’s only over doors, right?  Party’s in a church hall, how much mistletoe can there be?”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> The amount of mistletoe happened to be more than she would have liked.  Though the official story of the kidnapping didn’t involve a supernatural monster who stole naughty children and was allergic to mistletoe and silver, word had spread about the pond incident and the mysterious creature that had broken through the ice.  The people of Santa Claus had been clever enough to connect the dots between the Winchesters and their ‘free gifts’ to the town, and at least for now mistletoe seemed to have regained its position as a warding agent as well as a kiss magnet.  Doorways were lined with the stuff, and a few people had even taken to wearing a sprig on their person, either as a festive touch in a Santa hat or like a boutonniere on their jackets.  And of course there was the one rowdy young man who had a piece of it dangling over his crotch, but the only person who seemed to notice this was Dean, who was just cross he hadn’t thought of it himself.  </p><p><br/> Ash’s skin itched, and her throat felt scratchy.  Sam had her on a tight leash as they navigated the crowd, and it felt like her collar was shrinking around her neck.  She kept pausing to gnaw at an itchy patch or scratch under her collar; when she started wheezing and drooling, Sam finally realized something was wrong and took her outside.  <br/> “You okay?”  He crouched down to her level and inspected her: Her eyes were red and irritated, breathing was irregular and labored, and there was a dark splotch on her tongue that he was fairly certain hadn’t been there before.  </p><p><br/> Ash nodded, breathing the fresh winter air.  She rolled onto her back in the snow, letting the cold quell the itch.  </p><p><br/> “The Bleaken is coming!” </p><p><br/> Sam and Ash looked up in alarm as a child shrieked the warning: Sam reached for his knife, and Ash stood and prepared to attack.  But then another child laughed, and they realized there was no real danger.</p><p><br/>A few children were playing in the parking lot: Ash recognized two of them from the previous night, and a third from the group she’d rescued from the ice.  One had her hands bent in front of her and her tongue hanging out and barked like a dog.  The two biggest kids held sticks in their hands like swords, and another seemed to have trapped the rest of the kids inside a car ‘jail.’  The kids with sticks and the dog fought the bad-guy kid, who flailed his arms and made lots of sound effects and shouted “I got your wrist with my finger-whip and I’m throwing you to the ground!”  They’re playing Sam and Dean vs. the Bleaken, Ash realized, feeling a tingle of pride.  She watched the ‘dog’ run around and attack him from behind—“now I’m running up your back as a squirrel!” the girl shouted.  The villain waved his hand back and she shrieked as she pretended to be thrown backwards.  From inside the invisible prison lines, the captives cheered and shouted words of encouragement or gave their thoughts on what other super-powers their Bleaken could have.  “Watch out!  He can shoot lasers out of his eyes!” one kid yelled.  “No he can’t!”  “How would you know?  You weren’t there!”  “He never did that!”  “Don’t mean he couldn’t if he wanted to!”  </p><p><br/>“Everything okay out here?” Dean asked, joining them.</p><p><br/> Sam nodded.  “Ash just needed some air.  Too much mistletoe.”  He gestured to the children playing.  “Look.  They’re fighting the bleaken.”</p><p><br/> “Are they winning?”</p><p><br/> He smiled.  “I think that depends on whether or not it can shoot lasers out its eyes.  But I think they’ll kill it anyway.”</p><p><br/> Dean watched them play-fight for a moment.  He absent-mindedly went to pat the dog’s head, flinching back when she let out an alarmed little yip.</p><p><br/> “What’d I do?”</p><p><br/> Sam pointed to his shirt pocket.  “You touch that?”  A sprig of mistletoe stuck out like a festive anti-Bleaken boutonierre.  </p><p><br/> “Uh.  Yeah, one of the ladies gave it to me.”  He plucked the plant from his pocket and set it on top of a snow-covered bush, then rubbed snow on his hand to wash it.</p><p> “Better?” he asked, presenting his hand for inspection.  </p><p><br/> Ash sniffed the offered hand; it still smelled, but not as bad.  She nodded, and Dean patted her again.   </p><p><br/> A small herd of children ran up to them; Ash backed up to the end of her leash, trying to hide behind Sam.  Many of the kids had seen her shapeshift, though they had been under the Bleaken’s power at the time and hopefully wouldn’t remember.</p><p><br/> “We told the adults it was a guy in a mask,” one of the boys said.  “They didn’t believe the little kids that told the truth.  Said they were scared and needed to make up stories to make it make sense.”</p><p><br/> Dean grinned.  “That was very clever.  I’m glad you’re all okay.”</p><p><br/> “Bailey wanted to ask you somethin’,” he said, nudging a little girl forward.</p><p><br/> She stopped in front of him, shyly refusing to make eye contact.  “Um.  I was wonderin’.  Could we play with your magic dog?  I think she’s really cool.”</p><p><br/>  Dean blinked.  “Oh.  Uh, I don’t know…”</p><p><br/> Sam reached behind him and unhooked her leash.  “She’ll be fine,” he said quietly to his brother.  Then, to the kids: “Sure!  Just…Be gentle with her.  Don’t pull on her ears or tail or anything.”</p><p><br/> “We won’t!” the little girl shouted.  </p><p><br/> Ash wagged her tail and stepped forward tentatively.  She eyed Sam, who smiled encouragingly, then Dean, who wore a more serious expression but eventually nodded for her to go. This is why they hunt, she thought.  This is what keeps them going when it seems like the world has gone to shit.  People who would have died are still alive; kids that would have been corpses can run and play.  </p><p><br/> She followed the young Bleaken-hunters over to their play area and let the ‘Bleaken’ play-wrestle with her.  Soon, their game changed into vampires vs. werewolves.<br/> Dean kept a close eye on her, not trusting Sam to stay alert right now.  His hunter’s instinct told him it was a bad idea to let a shapeshifting Nephilim run free with a bunch of kids, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry that much.  She’d just saved them, after all.  No; despite what she was, and where she came from, she wasn’t a bad dog.  What was the saying?  ‘There are no bad dogs, just bad owners.’  Crowley was definitely a bad owner.</p><p><br/> “Hold on,” Sam said, “Did she say ‘magic’ dog?”</p><p><br/> Dean blinked. “You think they remember?”</p><p><br/> The kids paused their play to argue whether or not vampires could turn into actual bats.</p><p><br/> “They can in Twilight,” one of the girls said.</p><p><br/> “That’s not real!  Vampires aren’t sparkly!” a boy shouted back.</p><p><br/> “Ask the dog—I bet she knows real vampires!” said another.</p><p><br/> The group turned expectantly to Ash.  </p><p><br/> “Can vampires turn into bats?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  </p><p><br/> “I knew it!”</p><p><br/> “Whatever!  Vampires aren’t really real, anyway!”</p><p><br/> “Yes they are!  She says they are, and she’s a—a—like one of those transformer things, but with animals!”</p><p><br/> “Ok, fine.  So you and Aiden are vampires, but you can’t turn into bats.  Me and Scotty are werewolves and we’re friends with the real wolf—” he pointed to Ash.</p><p><br/> “And we’re hunters that have to kill you and rescue the others,” said one of the older boys.  </p><p><br/> “Our castle is over there at that tree—”</p><p><br/> “Castle?!”</p><p><br/> “Vampires gotta have a castle.”</p><p><br/> “Okay,” said one of the werewolves.  “And we live in…The old Santa Land amusement park!  Over there.”  He gestured back toward the church, to a shed the church used to store outdoor equipment for youth group outings.  </p><p><br/> Sam and Dean watched their youngest fans carry on: The vampires kidnapped the regular humans (“I caught us some virgins to eat.”  “You can’t say that word!”  “What—virgin?  That’s not a bad word.”  “My mom doesn’t like it.”  “It just means a person that hasn’t had sex.”  “You can’t say that!”  “Your mom is crazy.”).  The hunters snuck into their nest to rescue them, and a fight involving lots of stick knives and finger-guns broke out.  There was a heated discussion on holy water, and whether or not snow could become holy snow; the hunters argued that yes, it counted, and snowballs should be a valid way to hurt a vampire as long as they were blessed first.  Amidst the resulting snowball fight, the werewolves turned up to attack both the vampires and the hunters, and Ash became a living shield for the werewolves.  </p><p><br/> “What have we started?” Sam groaned.</p><p><br/> “It’s the next generation,” Dean replied, his chest puffed up with pride.  It wasn’t every day he got to see kids who idolized him.  “Fifteen years from now, one of them’s gonna be the next great hunter.  Cut their heads off!” he shouted to the kids.  </p><p><br/> Sam looked at him incredulously.  “Don’t encourage them!”</p><p><br/> “Why not?  Next gen hunters, Sammy.  They gotta start somewhere.”</p><p><br/> Sam whistled.  “Ash, let’s go!”</p><p> </p><p> Back behind the wheel of the Impala, Dean discussed their next move with Sam.  <br/> “If we start driving now, we can be back at the bunker by morning.  Or we can sleep now and leave in the morning, and we’ll get there tomorrow night.”</p><p><br/> There was a crunchy sort of schoop sound as Ash shifted to human in the back seat.  “What’s the bunker?” she asked, slipping her clothes on.</p><p><br/>“It’s our home.  Used to belong to this group called the Men of Letters—sort of ancestors of modern-day hunters.  The American Men of Letters were wiped out years ago by a Prince of Hell, but there are still members in Britain and…Probably other places.  It’s got a library full of lore and every supernatural weapon and cursed object you could ask for.”</p><p><br/> “I vote we head home now,” Sam said.  “I can split the driving with you.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, alright.”  Dean was quiet for a moment, thinking.  “You think it’s safe, bringing Ash home?  There’s a lot of stuff I bet Crowley’d love to get his hands on.” </p><p><br/> Sam nodded.  “Crowley’s been in the bunker already; if he wanted to get something badly enough, he’d find a way to break through the warding himself.  Besides—if she tries anything, we just lock her in the dungeon.”</p><p><br/> “Dungeon?” Ash echoed.</p><p><br/> “It’s where we kept Crowley when he stayed with us.  We’ve got demon-and-angel-proof handcuffs, too.”</p><p><br/> “We should go over some ground rules before we get there,” Dean said.  “Don’t go snooping around in any of the storage rooms.  They’re full of cursed objects and other crazy stuff.  A while back, a jar fell over and unleashed the Wicked Witch from Oz.  We don’t know what all else might be in there.” </p><p><br/> “And don’t read any books with locks on them,” Sam added.</p><p><br/> “Or look under my bed.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  “Your porn’s not cursed.”</p><p><br/> “No, but some of the pages stick together.”</p><p><br/> “Gross, dude.”</p><p><br/> They stopped back at the B&amp;B to collect their things, then pointed the car toward Kansas.</p><p><br/> “Okay, guys,” Dean said, cranking the radio up.  “Let’s go home.”<br/> <br/> <br/>  <br/> <br/> <br/> <br/> <br/> <br/> <br/> <br/> <br/> <br/> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7: The Leviathans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's finally that time!  The Winchesters go to war against the Leviathans.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bunker was impressive and intimidating. It was like a hunter fortress, designed to keep monsters out while at the same time acting as a jail for anything they didn’t want to escape.  Sam and Dean gave her the basic tour, and Dean fixed the first homemade meal they’d had in weeks.  </p><p><br/> “Alright,” Dean said once he’d eaten, “I’m ready to pass out.”  He threw his plate in the sink and headed for the hall.</p><p><br/> “Me too,” Sam agreed.  He nodded to Ash.  “You’re staying with me.  Come on.”</p><p><br/> Dean stopped and turned to face his brother.  “With you?  I thought I was keeping an eye on her.”</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “I don’t mind.  I actually like dogs.”</p><p><br/> Ash tilted her head to the side.  “You…Don’t sleep in the same room?”  </p><p><br/> Dean snorted.  “Don’t have to here; we’ve got plenty of space.”  He turned his attention back to Sam.  “I’ll watch her.  You’re too trusting.”</p><p><br/> Sam narrowed his eyes and sighed.  “We’ve been over this.  She’s not going to do anything as long as the leviathans are around.”</p><p><br/> “Too.  Trusting,” Dean repeated.  </p><p><br/> So Ash found herself shut in a room with the man she definitely didn’t have a thing for, and she couldn’t turn into a dog fast enough.  Maybe it was the lack of windows, or the knowledge that she was surrounded by all the technology needed to restrain and kill her a thousand times over, but she was more on edge than she’d ever been in their series of motels.  She curled up at the foot of the bed and studied the collection of guns and ornate weapons displayed on the walls, wondering which ones could hurt her.</p><p> <br/> Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and scratched between her ears.  “Pretty sweet, right?  That one there’s made just for killing a specific type of banshee found only in the pacific northwest.  The Men of Letters have something for everything.”</p><p><br/> Ash whimpered.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah, you too.”  He smoothed the fur down the back of her neck, scrunching the extra skin between her shoulder blades.  “Though I don’t know how many Nephilim they got to practice on—they’re rare as Hell.  And I’ve never heard of one that was half-demon and shapeshifted.”  He shrugged.  “Don’t see why you wouldn’t die the same way, though.”</p><p><br/> Ash huffed and flattened her ears.  </p><p><br/> “Oh, you’re fine,” Dean chuckled.  “Besides, Sam and I are converting you to our side.  You already know we’re better than Crowley, right?”</p><p><br/> She grumbled and rolled onto her side.  Dean just smiled and climbed under the covers.  He knew she liked them better; who wouldn’t?  Sure, she was conditioned to obey his every command, and that would get hairy later on when he ordered her to betray them, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.  He pushed his feet up against her back, feeling her warmth seep through the blanket.  </p><p><br/> “Hey—don’t leave this room without me.  If I find out you’re runnin’ around unsupervised, I will lock you up.  With Enochian and silver cuffs.  Understand?”</p><p><br/> Ash whined and nodded.  </p><p><br/> Dean yawned.  “Good dog.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash woke up feeling uneasy and disoriented.  She’d dreamed that Dean had shot and stabbed her with every weapon on his wall, because he needed to find the one that worked to kill Nephilim.  Waking up to see all the weapons still on the wall was not all that comforting.  She didn’t like not being able to see outside, either; she located a little alarm clock that proclaimed it was 1 pm, but without any natural light she wasn’t sure if it was accurate or not.  Dean was still sleeping soundly, and she knew he had a tendency to shoot people if woken suddenly, so she wasn’t about to mess with him.  She wandered around the room, but there wasn’t much to hold her attention.  He had a few books on engine and car repair, and Ash knew she had a better chance of translating the Bible into Enochian than she did of understanding vehicle mechanics (mostly because Crowley had made her study Enochian, but still).  She gave a wide berth to the stack of Busty Asian Beauties that smelled like some of the pages might be stuck together.  Underneath the bed was a decent-sized first aid kit and a large wooden chest; from the metallic tang it gave off, she guessed it contained more weapons, but she had a feeling it would make too much noise if she dragged it out and opened it.  </p><p><br/> Ash was no stranger to confinement.  At various points of her life as a dog or cat, she’d been leashed, tethered, crated, and caged, and it hadn’t bothered her much.  She’d also been stowed in small, windowless rooms for days or even weeks during her time with Crowley, and that had been unpleasant but she’d coped.  But being trapped in the bunker made her skin crawl.  She knew there was a lot of warding, but Castiel and Crowley had both been here and done fine, so that couldn’t be it, could it?  Besides, she’d never felt much effect from anti-angel or anti-demon stuff; silver and mistletoe had always been her Achille’s heels.  Maybe as she grew stronger, she became more vulnerable to Enochian spell-work?  Or maybe she just didn’t want to spend any more time locked in a room with Dean, who was strong and intelligent and charismatic so why on Earth would she give a crap about him and &lt;holy crap he’s just like Crowley, and that’s what he meant by ‘daddy issues.’&gt;  Ash needed to get out.  Now.  </p><p><br/> She couldn’t break the rules, though: She couldn’t go anywhere without Sam or Dean.  Sam tended not to sleep as long as his brother, so he might be up by now.  She shifted into her human form, throwing on clothes just in case Dean happened to wake up, and borrowed Dean’s phone to text Sam.  A few minutes later, he came to her rescue and took her for an early-morning run as a dog.  Then he began methodically searching the Internet for any news on the Leviathans over breakfast.  Ash shifted into a human and Sam showed her what to search for on a spare tablet.</p><p><br/> They worked in silence for the better of two hours, when Dean suddenly sprinted into the room, panting.  “Sammy!”</p><p><br/> Sam jumped to his feet.  “What’s wrong?”</p><p><br/> “Ash is gone—it’s my fault.  I didn’t think she’d actually…”  He trailed off as he noticed Ash sitting farther down the table.  She gave him a sad, guilty look, like a dog who’d been caught in the trash.  He took a moment to catch his breath before he said anything.  “Oh.”</p><p><br/> “She asked me to come get her a couple hours ago,” Sam explained.  “I didn’t think I’d need to leave you a note.”</p><p><br/> “No.  Right.  Of course.”  He laced his hands behind his head, letting more oxygen into his lungs.  </p><p><br/> “You alright?”</p><p><br/> “You know when you’re not really awake, but you stand up real fast because something might be trying to kill you, and you feel like you’re going to pass out?”  Sam dragged a chair back from the table and Dean sat down heavily.  He looked a little sheepish.  “I knew you had everything under control.”</p><p><br/> It just goes to show, they’ll never trust you, Ash thought.  They’d fought monsters together, saved lives, and she slept in their beds, but at the end of the day they were not friends.  At the end of every day, their hunters’ instinct would tell them that she can and would betray them, that the only ending to this story they saw was a silver bullet in her heart, or an angel blade, or—well, they probably had a list going, just in case Plans A and B didn’t work.  Yes, she’d told them she couldn’t kill anyone; but Crowley had given her that rule, and they knew he could give her a different rule whenever he wanted—&lt;kill the Winchesters,&gt; for example—and they weren’t going to let their guards down.  And could she blame them, after everything Crowley had done to them?  Still, it hurt.  It hurt because she cared for them, but despite all the friendly talks and nighttime snuggles and death-defying hunts, they were never going to care for her.  &lt;No one would.  So WHAT’S THE FUCKING POINT?!&gt;</p><p><br/> Sam’s phone rang.  “It’s Crowley.”</p><p><br/> Dean narrowed his eyes, gesturing for him to put it on speaker.  </p><p><br/> “What do you want?” Sam snapped.</p><p><br/> “Hello, Moose.  Any closer to offing our black-blooded friends?”</p><p><br/> “We’re working on it.”</p><p><br/> “So, no.”  He sighed.  “I’m calling because I need to borrow Ash.  Send her outside, would you?”</p><p><br/> “Where—Are you outside the bunker?!”</p><p><br/> “I would have come in, but some moron increased the warding.”</p><p><br/>Sam rolled his eyes.  “She’ll be right out.”<br/> </p><p><br/> Ash was ushered outside; the boys watched Crowley suspiciously from the doorway, and he ignored them.  </p><p><br/>“Hello, Ashes.  Miss me?”</p><p><br/> “Yes.”</p><p><br/> “Really?  Things must be worse than I thought.  Come on.”  He held his hand out; when she took it, the world spun around her.  They had moved to an old church, and the sky outside was dark.</p><p><br/> “Sweden,” he explained.  “America’s great for old abandoned buildings, but I get bored of killing teenagers who keep creeping around looking for a place to snog.  The Swedes aren’t nearly as sexually oppressed—they shag wherever they want, and I can keep the bloody pests out of my hair.”</p><p><br/> “Teens have found your demon court?”</p><p><br/> “The demons think it’s loads of fun, but it does slow meetings down a bit when people start arguing about who gets to eat the entrails.  I’ve moved several times, but it’s like a compulsion for them.  Do you know, the best way to catch a bunch of sixteen-year-olds is to hang big signs up that say ‘Private Property: Do not enter’ and ‘Danger: Construction Area—Keep out’?  They literally cannot help themselves.”</p><p><br/> “So your court’s in a church now?”</p><p><br/> “What?  Oh, no.  That’s still in America.  We’re here because I couldn’t have you blowing up anything important.  Not that you will blow it up, but it’s best to air on the side of caution when dealing with a…You.”  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to walk down the empty pews; Ash trailed after him.  “Speaking of teenagers, I thought you could use a break from all that teenage angst rolling around your little head, so I rescued you from the boys for a little training.”</p><p><br/> Ash bristled.  “Teenage—you didn’t talk to Sam, did you?”</p><p><br/> Crowley smiled brightly.  “No.  Moose noticed?  I’m impressed.”  He spun around, stopping in his tracks to face her, and she instinctively took a step back.  “So the only one who hasn’t noticed you pining after him like a little schoolgirl is Squirrel?”</p><p><br/> Ash blushed and crossed her arms like a petulant child.  “I am not pining after anyone, and I know better than to—”</p><p><br/> “Don’t think I can’t see inside your head, missy,” Crowley smirked, suddenly much closer than he was a moment ago.  Ash went rigid, flinching when he reached out to smooth her hair back.  His hand snaked down the back of her neck and landed on her shoulder.  “I’m just teasing, love.  I told you to bond with them, and you have.  You did exactly as a I asked.”</p><p><br/> “They still don’t trust me.”</p><p><br/> “And they won’t.  They might be absolute knuckleheads, but they occasionally do have good instincts.  They know better than to trust me, and you’re mine; ergo, untrustworthy.”  He squeezed her shoulder, then released her and went back to walking through the pews.  “Oh, just spit it out before you explode.”</p><p><br/> Ash stepped on her own foot in surprise, grabbing the back of a pew to steady herself.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “You’re thinking so loud, it’s irritating.  Just say it, you’ll feel better.”</p><p><br/> “Um.  I don’t necessarily feel that my feelings regarding…The human…Are romantic in nature.  And I don’t &lt;want&gt; to feel—”</p><p><br/> “You get jealous whenever he talks to another woman, yes?” Crowley said, spinning around again.  And again, she took a step back.  </p><p><br/> “Not &lt;any&gt; woman, just—”</p><p><br/> “Just the ones he flirts with, which is anyone under age 40, and anyone he sleeps with, which is the same demographic but willing to put out.”</p><p><br/> “But I don’t want to sleep with him.”</p><p><br/> Crowley sighed.  “No.  Because you’re so sexually repressed that, when given a massive amount of chemicals that should make you go mad with lust, your brain switches it around and wants to kill everything.  It’s really an amazing adaptation you’ve got, given that you can’t have sex, and quite frankly I’m impressed that you haven’t tried to kill Squirrel yet.”  He shrugged.  “I guess it’s just a &lt;little&gt; crush.”</p><p><br/> There was a soft flutter of wings, and Castiel appeared at the end of the aisle.  </p><p><br/> “Crowley,” the angel growled.</p><p><br/> “Castiel.  You got my message,” the demon said cheerfully, as if he was meeting a friend for lunch.</p><p><br/> “You said she was unstable.”</p><p><br/> “What?” said Ash.</p><p><br/> Crowley arched an eyebrow. “You disagree, Miss Teenage Angst?  Your power feeds off your emotions.  Would you say you’re feeling emotionally stable at the moment?”</p><p><br/> She looked down at her feet.</p><p><br/> Crowley clapped his hands together.  “Right.  Let’s get started.”</p><p> </p><p> Castiel glared at Crowley from his post just inside the doorway as Crowley absent-mindedly set fire to a ceremonial Bible up by the pulpit.  Ash shifted her stance nervously, positioned halfway between them.  They’d played this game before, and she wasn’t very good at it—she was always afraid she’d hurt Crowley, so she never went all-out.  She knew one of the reasons Crowley had invited Castiel was because she held no delusions of being able to injure the angel, and even if she did at least it wasn’t her demon getting hurt.  </p><p><br/> “You first,” Crowley called across the church.  His voice echoed up into the rafters, dislodging a dead bat that plopped into a pew a few feet from him.  </p><p><br/> Ash turned to face Castiel and braced herself for the first attack.  He flung his hands out and she brought her own up to block him, but nothing happened on her end, and the wave of energy from the angel knocked her flat on her back.  </p><p><br/> Castiel appeared at her side and helped her up.  “What happened?”</p><p><br/> When she had enough air back in her lungs she replied, “I don’t know.  I reached for it, but it just…Wasn’t there.”</p><p><br/> “You’re trying to be logical again,” Crowley said from his seat on the altar.  All the crosses were upside down, even the ones in stained glass on the back window.  “I told you, your power is tied to your emotions.  Thinking about it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”</p><p><br/> “I know, I know.  I just…Don’t know how to do it.”</p><p><br/> “Well, there’s plenty for you to be pissed about,” the demon said, now drawing a comical moustache on a portrait of Jesus.  “What was all that crap you were angsting about a minute ago?  You do your best to make other people happy, but it’ll never be enough to make them love you.  No matter where you are or who you’re with, you’ll always feel alone.”</p><p><br/> “I didn’t say—”</p><p><br/> “Because that’s all you want, isn’t it?  It’s so terribly human, and it’s really not fair that a monster like you should have to live with it, too.  All anybody wants is to be loved.”  He got up and started walking toward her, slowly; Castiel backed away, and Ash felt the demon’s power grip her.  “How does it go?  The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.  The greatest thing, Ashes.  If only there was, I don’t know, a group of people who were well-versed in the supernatural, who might someday accept you as part of their weird little non-nuclear family.  People who wouldn’t judge you for what you were, or what you came from.  But you know, now, that no matter what you do, no matter how much you love them, they will never.  Love.  You.  Back.”  He was now just a few feet from her, and his power was crushing her like a snake.  “So go ahead.  Be angry.”</p><p><br/> She felt the anger surge through her, and with it came power.  She pressed out, struggling against the demon’s hold.</p><p><br/> “I’m not even trying, love.  Is that the best you can do?”</p><p><br/> Ash gritted her teeth and pushed, loosening the bonds but not breaking them.  </p><p><br/> “It’s not enough,” Castiel said.  “She needs motivation.”</p><p><br/> “What do you bloody call—” Crowley said, cutting himself off when Castiel’s angel blade slipped into his fist.  He moved Ash so she was behind him, still trapped in his power.  “No.  You’re not coming at her with that thing, not yet.”</p><p><br/> Castiel smiled with his mouth, but his eyes stayed grim.  “I wouldn’t risk killing her, demon.  I know how valuable she is.”</p><p><br/> Crowley’s own smile dropped; as he released his hold on Ash, she felt the angel’s power grip her.  </p><p><br/> “Don’t!” she snapped, struggling with renewed purpose.  </p><p><br/> Castiel and Crowley circled each other; she knew Crowley had an angel blade; he wouldn’t have met Cas without it; but for some reason, he wasn’t pulling it out.  Maybe he really didn’t have it on him?  Would he have forgotten a thing like that?  </p><p><br/> “Do you know what I like about demons, Ash?” Castiel growled.  He lunged forward, missing Crowley by a hair.  “Nothing.  They serve no purpose at all.”  He turned as the demon did, not letting him put any distance between them.  “I’d be doing the world a favor by gutting this one right now.”</p><p><br/> “You make me all tingly when you talk like that,” Crowley purred, sidestepping the angel’s next swipe.  “But you know you’d miss me.”</p><p><br/> Ash shouted in frustration—she was supposed to be stronger than angels, right?  So why the hell couldn’t she get herself to move?</p><p><br/> Castiel pulled a double fake-out on the demon and managed to catch his shoulder with the tip of the blade, slicing through fabric and piercing his skin.  Crowley hissed as red light escaped from the wound, stumbling backwards and pressing his hand over it.</p><p><br/> Something clicked in Ash: She felt the pain Crowley felt, and she felt his anger and even a small twinge of fear.  Her blood felt like it was on fire: power rippled out from her skin, tearing through the angel’s bonds and surging out to push him away.  She stepped in front of Crowley protectively and held one hand out in front of her, and Castiel slid back across the aisle, his shoes scraping against the rough wood.  The angel blade disappeared up his sleeve and he dug his feet down, using his own power to hold him in place.  </p><p><br/> “Well that worked,” Crowley remarked, “Though I don’t think it’s a practical ability if you can only use it after someone’s already hurt.  You are getting stronger, though—you’ve never been able to push him that far at once.”</p><p><br/> Ash dropped her power when she realized Crowley was no longer concerned about Castiel.</p><p><br/> “Do you have the Leviathan serum on you?” Castiel asked, walking back to them like he hadn’t just tried to kill the demon.</p><p><br/> “Of course.  You think if she gets used to it that she’ll be able to act without the serum?”</p><p><br/> “It’s a possibility.  On the other hand, she could have an alternate reaction to the drug and develop an insatiable sexual appetite—”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, no,” Ash cut in.  “That’s not happening.”  Especially not with you two here, she thought.  You’re basically my dad and a weird uncle—if I start feeling randy, I’ll stab myself with the damn angel blade before I come on to either of you.</p><p><br/> Crowley snorted, and Ash blushed remembering he had a tendency to read her thoughts.  Castiel looked blank—oh thank Hell he can’t do that too.  </p><p><br/> The demon produced a small syringe and grabbed Ash’s arm in one smooth movement.  “Ready?  In three—two—”  He jabbed the shot into her arm and she yelped.<br/> “What happened to ‘one’?” she whined, rubbing the injection site.  </p><p><br/> She felt the fire rush through her again, but instead of a specific thought driving it, there was just an overwhelming rage.  She knew she could control it—she’d done it before—but it was always a struggle at first to not just let it all out.  It was like being a miniature, ultra-concentrated Incredible Hulk, all the anger and a quarter the size.  Her vision blurred, and when it cleared she saw Crowley and Castiel both standing a few arm lengths away, their hands up, palms pointed toward her.  </p><p><br/> She flinched when a window exploded behind her, and she realized she’d done it without meaning to.  </p><p><br/> “Control it,” Crowley warned, solidifying his stance.  “Focus.”</p><p><br/> Kill him, the serum urged.  She shoved the thought back and one of the pews caught fire.  She growled in frustration and shook her head.  </p><p><br/> “Real nice,” he said sarcastically.  “That could’ve been Squirrel, you know.”</p><p><br/> Ash shoved out with her mind, and Crowley was propelled through the air to crash back against the altar.  She paled, wondering if she’d overdone it, but Crowley got back on his feet and grinned.  “Not bad.”  With a flick of his wrists, he sent her flying back into the wall, pinning her six feet above the floor.  </p><p><br/> It was easier now, with the anger backing her up.  She broke his hold and used her own energy to lower herself safely to the ground.  Castiel sent her skidding back across the church; halfway down the aisle, Crowley hit her from the other side, and now she was the center of a supernatural angel-demon power sandwich, slowly being crushed by their combined energy.  She pushed back against both of them, and now she wasn’t being smooshed but she also wasn’t able to completely overcome it.  Pulses of anger helped, but it wasn’t enough to make up for her lack of experience.  </p><p><br/> She closed her eyes.  &lt;Think about what you have to do,&gt; she told herself.  &lt;Think about why you’re doing it.  You’re surrounded by Leviathans and they’re going to eat your friends—well, people you like as friends, even though they don’t think of you that way.&gt;  She felt her power flicker and fade, and her eyes flew open as she found herself back in a vice-grip of angelic and demonic energy.  &lt;Okay, not that.  You’re surrounded by Leviathans and they’re going to kill Sam and Dean.  They’re going to kill Sam and Dean and Crowley and Castiel and the kids from Santa Claus who think it’s cool that you’re a shapeshifter—the black-bloods are going to turn them into mindless cattle and eat them if you don’t stop them—now!&gt;</p><p><br/> Angel and demon both rocked back on their feet as Ash’s energy wave overrode their own efforts.  Wordlessly, they hit her again, and again she broke free.  She was breathing hard and sweating, but she was free.  She could feel the rage dissipating, and it made her feel weak and tired.</p><p><br/> Crowley attacked her again, and she skidded back into a pew.  “You think your enemies will stop because you’re tired?  Get up.”</p><p><br/> She reached for the feeling of power, but it wasn’t as strong as before: She did the angelic equivalent of swatting at him with the back of her hand.  He countered by throwing her through a stained-glass window.</p><p><br/> Glass shattered around her.  She felt a blast of cold air as she left the church, landing on a mound of snow.  She heard Castiel’s muffled voice inside saying “That was a bit much, don’t you think?”</p><p><br/> “Kid’s gotta learn somehow,” Crowley answered.  “She’s still overthinking it.”</p><p><br/> Ash stood and shook herself off.  Little bits of glass still stuck to her skin.  &lt;Okay, you can do this.  You’re not going to disappoint Crowley.  Don’t overthink it.&gt;  What did that mean, though?  How was she not supposed to think?  She started to walk toward the door of the church and stopped.  She was trying to fight like an angel or a demon would, and do what Crowley and Castiel did.  But she wasn’t an angel or a demon.  And the best way to get back into the church was through the window she’d just broken through.</p><p><br/> A falcon flew through the broken glass and landed on the pulpit.  The angel and demon turned to look at her with polite interest, like a mother cat whose kitten just took its first swipe at a mouse.  </p><p><br/> “After you, Feathers,” Crowley said.</p><p><br/> Castiel’s eyes flared blue.  Ash felt his energy coming at her and flew to the side; it caught her in midair and flipped her around like a leaf.  She shifted into a dragon and crashed into the altar, shattering the wood.  The dragon made her feel more confident, with its already imposing physique and penchant for destruction.  She spread her massive wings, sending her power forward as she flapped them; Castiel was shoved backward.  Crowley stepped forward in his place and pinned her wings to her sides; she shifted into a hellhound and pushed forward with her mind, shoving him back into the angel.  They continued to fight back and forth until Ash was too tired to even stand up, and Castiel flew her back to the bunker.  Conveniently, she had just turned into a German Shepherd before collapsing, so transporting her was not the chore it could have been if she was, for example, a dragon.</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> “What happened?” Sam asked, jumping up as Castiel appeared with the dog in his arms.  He was half-asleep, still scanning the farthest corners of the internet for a secret way to kill Levis.  </p><p><br/> “Nothing ‘happened.’  She’s just tired from training,” Castiel replied, setting her down on a couch.</p><p> <br/> “She looks half-dead.”</p><p><br/> “It was an intense day for her.”</p><p><br/> Sam sat down next to her and patted her head; she sighed heavily.  “So you’re really working with Crowley on this?  You think that’s a good idea, after…You know…Everything?”</p><p><br/> “Though I don’t doubt that his intentions are entirely selfish, he wants the same thing we do: To stop the end of the world.  If he wanted to turn her into a weapon of mass destruction, he would have done so from the beginning.  Whatever his plan is for her, it does not involve the destruction of Heaven or Earth.  So yes, I am working…In the same general direction as Crowley, to ensure that she is as strong as possible for the next apocalyptic event.” </p><p><br/> Dean appeared from the kitchen holding a plate piled high with fries and an oversized burger.  “You should eat, Sammy—oh hey, Cas.”</p><p><br/> “Ash is back,” Sam said, drawing attention to the dog next to him.  He watched as Dean set the plate down in front of him and frowned.  “This looks like your dinner.”</p><p><br/> “Come on, you’ve been staring at your computer all day—you need real food, not that rabbit food crap.”</p><p><br/> “Dean.”</p><p><br/> “Just eat it, Sammy.”</p><p><br/> “Don’t call me Sammy.”</p><p><br/> Dean sat down at the tail-end of the dog, petting her as he turned his attention to Cas.  “So what  did you guys do?”</p><p><br/> “Crowley is trying to get her to control her Nephilim power—basically fighting without physical contact.  Because she’s restrained it for so long, it has proved quite a challenge, but she’s making progress.  She does best when she’s not in human form, which I didn’t think was possible; but I’ve also never come across an angel-demon hybrid.  The biggest issue is that she’s found her power but not learned to control it: when she needs it, she can’t harness it, and I feel the opposite may be true as well.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, that’s happened a bit,” said Sam.</p><p><br/> “When?” said Dean and Cas.</p><p><br/> “We were talking the other night—you were out,” he said to Dean.  “She got…Emotional about something,” he continued, and Ash raised her head in alarm, “And she set fire to the metal grate in the fireplace.  She wasn’t even looking at it.”</p><p><br/> Castiel gave her a calculating look.  “Do you feel that you are a danger to Sam and Dean?”</p><p><br/> Danger?  She took a moment to consider the question, then shook her head; she’d never done anything, accidentally or on purpose, that posed a real threat to them.  </p><p><br/> The angel addressed the hunters: “I will keep an eye on her as often as I can, and assist in her training, but Heaven is still a mess…”</p><p><br/> “It’s fine, Cas.  We appreciate all your help, but we can handle her too,” Sam said, petting the top of her head.  </p><p><br/> Castiel sat down across from them, and watched them eat.  They talked about the latest Leviathan news: Dick Roman’s company now controlled the country’s leading corn syrup manufacturer, as well as many popular fast-food chains, just as it had the last time he was topside.  Sam had found multiple instances across the country of people behaving like brain-dead idiots for no other apparent reason than eating too much McDonald’s, and decided that Dean needed to modify his diet until they’d dealt with the slimy bastards.  </p><p><br/> “It’s just like last time,” Sam said.  “They’re taking control of the food first; next they’ll come for the slaughterhouses.  That means no more fast food on the road.  No more chain restaurants.  Nothing made with corn syrup.”</p><p><br/> “But corn syrup’s in everything,” Dean whined.  “Maybe I can be just a little stupid—”</p><p><br/> “A man drilled a hole through his hand without noticing!  He didn’t seek medical care until someone at his work made him go to the hospital the next day.  We need to lay off this stuff, Dean.”</p><p><br/> He sighed heavily.  “Fine.  At least I can still have pie.”</p><p><br/> Sam gave him a long look.  </p><p><br/> “That’s just sugar!”</p><p><br/> “No one uses sugar anymore.  It’s all corn syrup.”</p><p><br/> He looked like he was about to cry.  The corner of his mouth twitched.  His eyes unfocused, like he was envisioning his new, hellish world; and very quietly he said, “They took Bobby.  They tried to ruin sex.  And now they’ve taken…Everything…”</p><p><br/> “Oh, that reminds me—we’ll have to hide the Impala again.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s head flopped back over the top of the couch, his hands balled into fists.  Sam swore he heard him whimper.  </p><p><br/> Castiel leaned closer to Sam and said quietly, “How did the Leviathans try to ruin sex?”</p><p><br/> Sam cringed inwardly.  He’d been very carefully not thinking about that incident ever since it happened, because when he did he felt like screaming and punching himself in the face.  “We told you about that—the…The…Breeding program, remember?”  He dug his nails into his palm; on the other side of the dog, Dean’s face twitched and paled.</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Yes, of course.  I imagine that the lack of self-control you felt, essentially being forced into sexual intercourse, could be traumatic and translate into subsequent sexual encounters.”</p><p><br/> It was a very Cas thing to say, but it made Sam want to bang his head against a stone pillar.  He was about to say a very non-Sam thing along the lines of ‘Cas, please just shut up,’ but hesitated when Dean shot to his feet.  His brother looked torn between wanting to kill something and wanting something to kill him.  </p><p><br/> “Well, it’s late.  I should turn in for the night.”</p><p><br/> Sam didn’t have to look at his phone to know it was barely past ten—hardly ‘late’ for them.  Dean just wanted to escape Cas’s clinical assessment of all their issues.  </p><p><br/> “Ash, you want—” Dean trailed off, realizing the dog was out cold already.  He smiled.  “Guess it really was a rough day.”  He slid his arms under her and lifted her up like a giant baby.  </p><p><br/> When he was out of earshot, Castiel said, “He’s really taken to her, hasn’t he?”</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “She’s grown on him.  On us.  It’s hard not to get attached, but…”</p><p><br/> “But she belongs to Crowley, and therefore she can’t be trusted,” Castiel finished for him.</p><p><br/> “Exactly.  Supposedly she’s not allowed to kill people, but how do we know that’s true?  What if he’s just waiting for the opportune moment?”</p><p><br/> “Like killing you and Dean once you’ve taken out the Leviathans, and you’re no longer useful to him.”</p><p><br/> Sam nodded.  “I know she likes us.  She really likes Dean.  But she has this…Dog-like loyalty to Crowley.  There must be a way to override it somehow.  If we can get her on our side—really our side, not just while it’s convenient to him—this could work.”  He shifted his position, stretching out on the couch.  “Dean never let me have a dog.  Said it was the wrong kind of life for one, always being on the road; and they need all this training and socialization, they shed a lot, they chew things they shouldn’t, they need long walks and on and on.  But with Ash…I know she’s not a real dog, but she’s the next best thing, you know?  She loves being a dog anyway.  And she has this doggish genuineness you don’t see a lot in people—doesn’t really fit that a shapeshifter could be genuine about anything, does it?”</p><p><br/> “She does share many of the personality traits that humans find beneficial in dogs,” Cas conceded.  “To her master, she’s loyal and honest; she obeys commands without question; and somehow she loves him, without judgement for what he is or what he’s done.”</p><p><br/> “Sounds more like Stockholm Syndrome,” Sam muttered.</p><p><br/> “She’s been with him her entire life.  Even if he doesn’t call himself her father, he’s the only parental figure she’s ever known.”</p><p><br/> “Don’t think he’ll win Dad of the Year anytime soon.”</p><p><br/> “There’s an award for—”</p><p><br/> “No, it’s just a…Never mind.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash woke with a start when something smacked her in the head.  Where was she?  She remembered sparring with Crowley and Castiel, but Castiel had brought her back to the bunker, right?  Or was she still in the church?</p><p><br/> “Oh shit, sorry,” Dean said.  </p><p><br/> She lifted her head up: Dean was holding her, and had just whacked her head on the doorframe going into his room.  He set her down at the foot of the bed.  </p><p><br/> “Well, I almost made it without waking you up.”  He patted her head gingerly where she’d been hit, then stepped into the bathroom to change.  Before he climbed into bed, he grabbed his laptop and a hidden glass and bottle of whiskey.  He raised the glass like a toast and winked at Ash.  “Don’t tell Sammy I’ve got booze in here, he already thinks I have a drinking problem.”</p><p><br/> Ash’s tail thumped twice, and she fell back asleep.  Dean grinned and downed his shot, then poured himself another.  Damn Sam and Cas, having to talk about shit.  You never talk about shit.  Sammy thought he was some kind of therapist, that talking through the bad stuff helped you heal.  But talking about the bad stuff just made you think about the bad stuff, and then you were reliving it…No, talking wasn’t the answer.  Although…Since he and Sam had both been given that fucked up Leviathan breeding drug, his brother would understand where he was coming from if he told him what had happened with Danielle.</p><p><br/> It was stupid, really.  She’d shut the door to her bedroom in case her son woke up, and they’d started making out and peeling off each other’s clothes.  They landed on the bed in their underwear, Dean on top, grinding against her.  He often fantasized that his hookups were different women—Lisa, for example, though that tended to make him feel guilty, or one of the girls from a porno.  But for some reason—probably because he’d recently spent a night cuddled up to her in her human form—all he could think about tonight was Ash.  And when he thought about her, his brain immediately went back to that day they’d discovered the Leviathan’s serum testing facility—he’d been out of control, he would have raped her for God’s sake—and he froze up.  Danielle had said something, probably asked him if he was alright, he hadn’t really heard her—and he’d made up some bullshit answer about thinking he heard someone downstairs, but it was nothing.  And he’d gotten back into his groove, and the sex was okay, but somewhere in the back of his mind there was still that little bit of him freaking out—&lt;You can’t control yourself, They’re making you do this,&gt; and also &lt;What the fuck, man?  It’s Ash.  You already give Sam enough shit over Ruby, there’s no way you’re hooking up with a shapeshifting Nephilim who works for the King of Hell.&gt;</p><p><br/> So yeah, the damn Leviathans might have ruined sex a bit.  He glanced over the top of his laptop screen at Ash, passed out at his feet.  Nope, no desire to bang a dog.  At least he had some standards left.  &lt;But when she’s human&gt;…He shook his head.  Nope.  One part angel, one part demon, all nope.  &lt;Right,&gt; his brain said, &lt;Keep telling yourself that.&gt;</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash spent the next few weeks getting her ass kicked by an angel and a demon as Crowley pushed the limits of her abilities.  There were a few days that she worked almost exclusively with Castiel; Crowley was convinced that she had the ability to heal others, and thought Cas would be able to show her how.  But after two days and a variety of injured animals, Ash had made no progress, and Castiel had ended up healing everything for her.  She popped back to the bunker sporadically, staying with Crowley if Castiel was not part of the lesson plan on a particular day.  Though he kept her out of his demon court, her presence on the premises was still enough to agitate his subjects.  In the middle of a detailed discussion with his chief torturers, one of his demons broke down in tears and started blubbering incoherently about forgiveness.  It was embarrassing, really, coming from a guy who routinely and cheerfully snapped people’s ribs off one at a time with a hot prybar.  </p><p><br/> Being around her all the time was wearing on Crowley as well, though he was much better at hiding it.  On the nights when she went back to the bunker, he’d taken to going back to Hell, just so he could hurt as many things as possible in an attempt to forget about having feelings.  When she did stay with him, he tended to hold an abbreviated demon court so that no one would see him if he broke down.  He’d had to kill one of his own men when the oaf had stumbled into his private chambers and caught him lying on his bed, petting the dog and crying over Moulin Rouge.  It was just as bad as the time he’d been addicted to human blood, only without the danger of overdosing.  <br/> <br/> Sam and Dean found themselves perpetually two steps behind the Levis.  Dick Roman was constantly moving around the country, seeing to different ‘business ventures’ and making it near impossible to know where he was going to turn up next.  The Winchesters visited more meat-processing plants than they’d known existed, taking out leviathans one by one in the world’s least efficient battle plan.  But for every one they killed, there were ten more waiting for them: They needed a real plan, and they needed it yesterday.  </p><p> </p><p> Crowley tossed a newspaper on the table in front of Sam, and the younger brother flinched.  He hadn’t heard anything from the demon for a few days, and he wasn’t expecting him to just pop in unannounced (though really, did Crowley ever show up announced?).  Ash was with him in her usual dog form, and she looked tired.</p><p><br/> “Is your angel here, Moose?”</p><p><br/> Sam tried to read the headlines while also keeping a wary eye on him.  They might be working to destroy the same monsters, but Crowley was still the enemy.  “…Yeah.  He’s…Somewhere…”</p><p><br/> It was the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.  There was a story about a local war veteran regaining the ability to walk, and something about unseasonal weather.  A smaller headline stated: “Hundreds seek medical care after possible food poisoning; FDA to investigate multiple sources.”</p><p><br/> Sam leaned back in his chair.  “Food poisoning?  Sounds like one of their tests went wrong, if hundreds of people are still alive.”</p><p><br/> Crowley scoffed.  “This was written eight hours ago.  Every last one of them is now dead, but you won’t see a thing about it in the news.  The test went exactly as they wanted it to, and now they’re cleaning up after themselves.  I assume you morons haven’t come up with a way to get rid of them once and for all?”</p><p><br/> He narrowed his eyes at the use of ‘morons,’ but he’d been called worse by the demon.  “Have you?”</p><p><br/> Crowley looked down at Ash.  “I have…Possibilities.  But I could use a second opinion.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed.  “Cas!” he called.</p><p><br/> Castiel appeared from the hallway and immediately glared at Crowley.  “Crowley.”</p><p>“Feathers!  I missed you, too.  Listen, I’ve got a plan for our slimy black friends, but you’re better acquainted with them than I am.  Fancy a chat?”</p><p><br/> The angel sighed and ground his teeth in annoyance.  “Fine.”</p><p><br/> Before Sam could say another word, like call for his brother, he was alone again.  Crowley had taken Ash, and Castiel had followed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Castiel watched the demon suspiciously as he laid out several vials of the Leviathan’s ‘sex drug’ that magically turned Ash into a rage-fueled killing machine.  </p><p><br/> “We still have no way to kill Dick.  All of the Alphas are dead; hunters took out the Alpha vampire only a few months ago.  There aren’t any left for the spell we used last time to work.”</p><p><br/> “Not entirely accurate,” Crowley replied.  He began methodically drawing the serum up into syringes.  “There’s another Alpha, but your Hardy Boys wouldn’t know her.”</p><p><br/> “Her?”</p><p><br/> “La Chupacabra.  She’s a true Alpha, created at the same time as the others.  She’s currently lying low in Belize.”</p><p><br/> Castiel knew about the chupacabras; he also knew that Sam and Dean didn’t deal with them much in America.  A few hundred years ago, however, back when the Europeans were first fighting their way out West, a swarm of the things had swept up through Mexico and wreaked havoc in what is now California and Nevada.  </p><p> “…You know for certain she’s the Alpha.”</p><p><br/> Crowley nodded.</p><p><br/> “I don’t suppose you have a way of getting her blood?”</p><p><br/> The demon smiled.  “I wouldn’t trust Moose and Squirrel to get it.  Yes, I can get her blood.”</p><p><br/> Castiel gave him a long, calculating look.  “You can get us the Alpha’s blood.  And we can use your blood?”</p><p><br/> “All you have to do is find us a saintly bone.”</p><p><br/> That wouldn’t be a problem.  Could Crowley really deliver on his end, though?  The angel knew better than to trust him, but he did hate the Leviathans with a passion.  They were, as he said, ‘bad for business.’  Plus, they’d tried to eat him.  There was a large possibility, then, that he really was trying to help.  </p><p><br/> “What about closing Purgatory?  It won’t mean anything if we can’t close the door behind them.”</p><p><br/> Crowley sighed.  “Must I do everything around here?  Look; I’ve got a plan that has an 80% chance of working.  Take it or leave it.”</p><p><br/> Castiel raised his eyebrows.  “Does this plan involve your mother, by any chance?”</p><p><br/> The demon narrowed his eyes.  “She’s the most powerful witch alive.  And I’d say there’s only a 20% chance she’ll try to double-cross us this time; she’s not a fan of the toothy little buggers either.”</p><p><br/> “…Alright.  We’ll need more than Sam and Dean,” Cas said, his eyes straying to Ash.  “They’ll be expecting an attack.”</p><p><br/> “Of course,” Crowley replied, picking up the first syringe.  “And that brings me to Part 2 of the plan…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Castiel returned to the bunker carrying Ash in his arms.  She was in the same form she’d left in (a dog), but in much worse shape: Her fur was matted with black goo and her own blood, and it looked like patches of her fur had caught fire.  Upon closer inspection, the boys could see that some of her fur had fallen out, and her skin was red and bubbly underneath, like a bad sunburn.  Her face was swollen like she’d eaten a hornet, and her breath was slow and ragged; her nose was crusted yellow-green.  Her eyes were rimmed in a snotty, glue-like paste that dried and crusted all the way down her snout.  Now and then she’d twitch violently, and sometimes little blue sparks would dance across her back.  </p><p><br/> Sam and Dean were just finishing dinner, and they both jumped when Castiel appeared in the kitchen.</p><p><br/> “What happened to her?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “She blew up some Leviathans,” Cas replied.  “And then she…Did this.”  He nodded to her deteriorated form.  “Crowley believes she is having an allergic reaction.”</p><p><br/> “To the serum?”</p><p><br/> “To the Leviathans.”</p><p><br/> “When you say ‘blew up’…” Sam prompted.</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “They exploded in an outward manner, as if blown up from within by an explosive device.”</p><p><br/> “Christ,” Dean hissed.  “Can she breathe okay?”</p><p><br/> “She should be fine.  She’s been sedated.  Heavily.  I need to get her down to the dungeon to rest.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Uh, yeah.  She’s been staying with me—and sometimes Sammy—so maybe just put her on…”  He eyed all the goo and blood and made a quick decision, “…Sam’s bed, for now.”</p><p><br/> Castiel shook his head.  “She could still be dangerous.  The dungeon is safer; you can put a bed in there, if you like.”</p><p><br/> Ash twitched and a spark leapt from her shoulder to the floor, cracking the tile.  </p><p><br/> “I’ll get the door,” Dean said, heading for the dungeon.</p><p><br/> Sam brought an old comforter down that she could use as a dog bed, and set out bowls of food and water.  Castiel laid Ash on the blanket and locked the dungeon door behind him, adding an extra bookshelf as a barricade.  </p><p><br/> “Cas…?”</p><p><br/> The angel gave Sam what he hoped was a disarming smile.  “Just being cautious.  Crowley said she’s unlikely to kill you and Dean, even in this state, but…”  He shrugged.  <br/>But it was Crowley that said it, Sam finished in his head.  “Right.  We’ll keep an eye on her.  When is it safe to let her out?”</p><p><br/> “When you can hold a conversation with her, you’ll be fine.”  He straightened his tie, somehow managing to skew it even more.  “I should go.”</p><p><br/> “It’s fine,” Sam said, offering him a weak smile.  “We’ve got this under control.”</p><p><br/> Dean nodded.  “We’re babysitting a kid that’s already asleep; piece of cake.”</p><p><br/> Castiel gave them both a long, thoughtful look, nodded, and vanished with a flap of his wings.  </p><p><br/> “Right,” Dean said.  “I’ll take first watch.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean had fallen asleep with a beer in one hand and an old Calvin and Hobbes anthology in his lap (because the bunker couldn’t just have books on the supernatural; even Men of Letters needed a break from work now and then), leaning against the bookshelf that was leaning against the other bookshelf that doubled as the dungeon door.  He was having a strange dream where he was fighting a T-rex model at the Museum of Natural History that was possessed by a spirit.  It roared just like a real dinosaur (or just like humans imagined they sounded, at any rate); he jolted awake, but the roar continued.  And now, as the dream fog cleared, he realized it was the sound Ash made as a dragon.  </p><p><br/> He pitched forward suddenly as the shelf he was leaning on was slammed from behind; a few books fell, and he scooted backward and got to his feet.  The dragon screeched; he could hear the clatter of metal as her tail knocked into chains and implements of torture.  Her claws scratched the floor as she circled her prison: Dean could hear her move farther away, then closer, then farther.  She charged at the door again, and again the bookshelf shuddered but stayed up.  She made a snuffling sound, like a hound dog hunting a rabbit, and Dean wondered if she was hunting him.  Keeping one eye on the bookshelf, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah?”</p><p><br/> “Babysitting just got more interesting.”</p><p><br/> “On my way.”</p><p><br/> “Bring silver.”  He wouldn’t hurt her unless he had no other choice, he decided.  They could try to get the demon handcuffs on her, but they would only work if she had hands to cuff.  If they had to fight, silver was their best option.  He wished Castiel had given him more of the sedative he’d used.</p><p><br/> Sam arrived shortly with a silver knife (he knew Dean had started keeping his own silver knife on himself since they’d acquired Ash), the silver handcuffs, and a gun loaded with six silver bullets.  Like Dean, he didn’t want to hurt her unless he was forced.  He listened as Ash made another run at the door, taking a step back as more books fell to the floor.  </p><p><br/> “She can’t…Cas would’ve made sure it was strong enough for her, right?” he asked.</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “I don’t think anyone really knows how strong she is.  Not even Crowley.  Hell, not even Ash.”</p><p><br/> The snuffling sound returned, then stopped; the other side of the door was quiet for a moment, and then Ash made a raspy barking sound, like a dog speaking through a megaphone.  </p><p><br/> Sam took a tentative step forward, knife in hand, while Dean flanked him holding the gun.  “Ash?”</p><p><br/> She barked, then screeched.  The sound was so loud that both men covered their ears.  </p><p><br/> “It’s me, Sam.  Dean’s here, too.  You’re in the bunker.  Cas said he and Crowley gave you some really strong drugs.  He thinks you might try to hurt us if we let you out.”</p><p><br/> Ash huffed, and they could hear her tail swish back and forth across the floor.  She barked again, then huffed; then made a horrible noise that sounded like a dial-up Internet connection crying.  </p><p><br/> “What.  The.  Fuck,” Dean said.  He stuck a finger in his ear to see if it was bleeding; it was not.  </p><p> Sam sighed, rubbing his own ears.  “Ash, we can’t…We can’t understand you.  We need you to turn human so we can talk to you.”</p><p><br/> The dragon huffed and made a softer, more pitiful dial-up sound.  There was a massive thump as she collapsed onto the concrete like a dramatic teenager.</p><p><br/> Dean looked at his brother, who looked back at him.  </p><p><br/> “Maybe she can’t?”</p><p><br/> “So what do we do now?”</p><p><br/> “Wait, I guess.  She hasn’t broken through, at least.”  Dean handed the gun to his brother.  “Your turn to babysit.  Call me if she eats you.”</p><p><br/> “Very funny.”</p><p> </p><p> Sam had read most of the way through Calvin and Hobbes when Ash stirred again.  He shot to his feet immediately and texted Dean, She’s moving.  Ash sniffed by the door, then made a quiet barking sound, as if she was trying to whisper.</p><p><br/> “I’m right here,” Sam said.  “Dean is…Somewhere, but he’s on his way.  Can you shift?  We need to talk to you before we can let you out.”</p><p><br/> The dragon snorted, then went still.  After a moment, it started to growl, and Sam took a step back reflexively and raised the gun.  The growl grew in volume and turned into a shriek, which was followed by a flash of light and the now-familiar crunchy ‘shloop’ sound that accompanied a change in shape.  Sam got the impression that the thing on the other side of the door was now much smaller.  </p><p><br/> “Sam—” Ash said, then there was a ‘whump’ as she collapsed onto the blanket.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?”  He waited for a response, but the dungeon was silent.  “Ash?”  Again, silence.  “Crap.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She woke up a few hours later, just as Dean arrived to relieve his brother.  It felt like every molecule in her body was sore from her training session; everything from her head to her toes hurt, including her teeth, and her headache had a headache.  Large patches of skin on her arms, legs, and torso burned and itched like she’d been stung by an army of hornets, and she looked like she was suffering from an ungodly sunburn.  Her throat was swollen, making it hard to swallow, and her tongue felt like it was too big for her mouth.  </p><p><br/> Ash sat up and looked around, unsure of where she was.  The last thing she remembered was making one of Crowley’s captured Leviathans explode in a shower of black goo.  She was fairly certain the goo had covered everything, including Castiel and Crowley (and herself), but she was clean now, as were her surroundings.  Judging by the ‘tools’ hanging on the walls and knocked onto the floor (had she done that?), she was in the bunker’s dungeon; new sigils had been painted around the doorway that she didn’t recognize, but they looked like Castiel’s handwriting.  If Castiel had put her here, then she was supposed to be here, she reasoned; she just hoped she hadn’t done anything to hurt Sam or Dean.  She obviously hadn’t killed them, or Crowley would have had her in the pits for breaking the Rules.  </p><p><br/> Her ears perked up at movement beyond the doors.</p><p><br/> “Anything happen while I was gone?” Dean’s muffled voice said.</p><p> <br/> “Yeah, Calvin went to Mars,” Sam replied.  “She’s been quiet.”</p><p><br/> Ash stood up and pulled the blanket around her like a cloak.  It felt cool against her burning skin.  “Sam?  Dean?”  </p><p><br/> “Ash?  You okay?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I—”  She fell into a coughing fit, choking on spit.  When she finally composed herself, she continued: “Why am I here?  Are you okay?”</p><p><br/> “We’re fine.  Castiel thought you would be safer in there.  You were out cold when he brought you in.”</p><p><br/> “You tried to bust out a few hours ago,” Sam said.  “Do you remember that?”</p><p><br/> “No.”</p><p><br/> “Is it safe to let you out now?  Or are you still…?”</p><p><br/> “Sam!  You can’t ask her—”</p><p><br/> “Cas said she’d be fine if we could have a conversation with her.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I’m not going to att—” she cut herself off and went into another coughing fit.  “I’m fine.”</p><p><br/> She listened to them shuffle around, and there seemed to be an intense non-verbal discussion between the boys; but eventually the doors were pulled back.  </p><p><br/> “You look like crap,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Ash started to laugh, which made her choke again.  Catching her breath, she pulled the blanket tighter around herself.  “You should see the rest of me.”</p><p><br/> Sam entered the dungeon first and began to inspect a red, bubbly splotch that ran from her nose diagonally to her hairline.  “Cas said you developed an allergy to the leviathans.”</p><p><br/> She shrugged; with all the drugs Crowley had given her, she’d hardly noticed anything at the time.  That would explain why he was so adamant about her stopping, though.  It had taken the strength of both him and Castiel to hold her back from the remaining levis.</p><p><br/> “Is Cas here?”</p><p><br/> He shook his head.  “Why don’t we get you some clothes, and then we’ll try to fix…This,” he said, gesturing to the red splotch.</p><p><br/> “We’re going to need more Benadryl,” Dean sighed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> It took three days for the rashes and burns to clear up.  During that time, there was radio silence from both Castiel and Crowley; Ash told Sam and Dean about Crowley’s plan to use the Alpha Chupacabra’s blood to complete the same Leviathan-killing spell they’d used before, but they both had their doubts about the demon pulling through for them.  </p><p><br/> They were surprised when, just as the last of the red patches disappeared from Ash’s skin, Crowley showed up at the Bunker.  It was February 5; Dean had been counting down the days anxiously in his head as February 14 loomed ever closer, and the Leviathans got ready to make their biggest move yet.  </p><p><br/> “Has your angel gotten you your bone yet?” Crowley asked, sounding on edge.  </p><p><br/> “We haven’t heard from him.  Can you really get the blood of an Alpha?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “Can and did,” the demon replied, pulling a vial out of his pocket.  “You’d better tell Feathers to get a move on; my sources say Dick has moved his deadline up to the 10th.”</p><p><br/> “Hold on—you work with Cas.  Can’t you call him?”</p><p><br/> “Not if he’s in Heaven.  Demons don’t exactly have a direct line Upstairs.”  Crowley turned to inspect Ash, nodding in satisfaction at her clear skin.  “Hmm.  Any trouble shifting in the last few days?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  </p><p><br/> “Breathing problems?”</p><p><br/> “…A little.”</p><p><br/> “What about using your other powers?”</p><p><br/> “I haven’t really needed to use them…”</p><p><br/> Crowley looked at her thoughtfully.  “Alright.  We’ll stick to the plan, then.  Just be aware that the more Levi guts you get on you, the worse your reaction will be.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re still going to send her after them?  Her skin was peeling off in chunks!”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “It’s not going to kill her.  Now call your angel.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Crowley eyed his mother warily.  There were few things he trusted less than Rowena, but at the moment he was out of options.  If he couldn’t get the Leviathans sealed back in Purgatory, they were going to slaughter his entire clientele.  All of the surviving humans would be too stupid to do anything evil enough to wind up in Hell, and far too idiotic to manage summoning a demon to make a deal.  The only way to keep Hell running properly was to get rid of the gooey black-blooded bastards for good.</p><p><br/> Rowena smiled sweetly at him as she prepared the ingredients for her spell.  It had taken Crowley weeks to hunt some of them down—one had even involved time travel, which was no picnic, even for the King of Hell.  </p><p><br/> “So, when are you going to introduce me to my granddaughter, Fergus?”</p><p><br/> “Crowley,” Crowley growled automatically.  “And you don’t have a granddaughter.”</p><p><br/> “You don’t think you could hide her from me forever, do you?  I’m your mother.  I have ways of finding these things out.”</p><p><br/> He narrowed his eyes.  “…If I did have a daughter, what would you know about it?”</p><p><br/> Rowena picked up a jar of green liquid and held it to the light.  She turned it one way, then another, and nodded in satisfaction.  “I know she’s a shape-shifter, and you’ve been keeping her with the Winchesters.”</p><p><br/> “You stay away from her!” Crowley snapped.  </p><p><br/> “Do you really think I would hurt my own granddaughter?  She’s family!”</p><p><br/> “I was family, and look what you did to me!  And for the record, she doesn’t share a molecule of DNA with you.”  He stepped forward as the witch picked up a tiny metal canister.  “Careful with that!  You have to open it under water!”</p><p><br/> Rowena set the canister down carefully.  “I just wanted to make sure it was full.”  She moved on to a little bag of teeth and began laying them out on her table one by one.  “Anyway, all that…Nasty business is in the past.  I would have nothing but love for—what’s her name, love?”</p><p><br/> The demon gritted his teeth.  She’d find out one way or another, he supposed.  “Ash,” he said at last.</p><p><br/> “Hmm.”</p><p><br/> “What?”</p><p><br/> “Nothing.  I just…Imagined you would have come up with something a bit more impressive than ‘Ash.’”</p><p><br/> “You weren’t around to consult at the time,” Crowley snapped.  “She’d just crawled out of a pile of ashes that had been her mother, and I thought, why not?”</p><p><br/> Rowena paused her tooth-sorting and looked up at the creature that was once her son.  “You killed her?”</p><p><br/> His hands clenched into fists and he took a deep breath.  He looked like he wanted to punch her, but thought better of it.  “Just…Finish the damn spell.  You have 24 hours.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> There was a bland-looking sedan in the bunker’s garage, perfect for driving into enemy territory without drawing all the attention that the Impala would.  In addition to the bone of the righteous washed in the blood of an angel, a demon, and the alpha Chupacabra, the trunk was packed full of guns and machetes.  The guns were more of a just-in-case thing, since bullets didn’t do much against the beasts, but the machetes were a must-have for lopping the heads off anything that wasn’t Dick.  </p><p><br/> It took a full day to drive to Chicago; they arrived in the middle of the night on February 6 and checked into a hotel.  Castiel would inspect Roman Enterprises headquarters while the others slept, with the condition that he not enter the building alone.  They were so close to the end now, they couldn’t risk the angel being captured or killed—it was an all-hands-on-deck situation.  </p><p><br/> It was also, assuming they all survived, quite possibly the end of their time with Ash.  Crowley had said she was there to help them defeat the leviathans, which led both Sam and Dean to the assumption that he would then take her back, probably after he ordered her to kill them both.  But she’d been so helpful, and could continue to help them if she would stay—not to mention, the brothers would rather keep an eye on something that powerful rather than letting it run about Hell-knows-where with the King of Hell.  Dean wondered if they could convince Crowley to let them keep her—but it would have to seem like his idea, or he wouldn’t go for it.  That would be easier than fighting the demon; because as rotten as Crowley could be at times, they all knew it was better to have him in charge Downstairs than someone else, and waging a war against him wouldn’t help anyone.  How could they convince him, though?  Should they act like they didn’t want to keep her—use the ol’ reverse psychology strategy?  But surely Crowley knew they wouldn’t want to give her back, especially not with how strong she’d become.  </p><p><br/> Ash pressed her back against Dean’s feet as he slept, curled up as a corgi at the edge of the bed.  She wondered what Crowley would have her do once the leviathans were gone: She didn’t know if he’d let her stay with Sam and Dean, or send her somewhere else.  She only knew she wouldn’t be staying with him, which made her more vulnerable to attacks by other demons and made Crowley a semi-useless blob of emotions.  Still, for a moment she could imagine that this was home, family, and this was where she belonged.  She could tell herself that Dean loved and accepted her in spite of where she came from and what she was, but the lie would only make the truth hurt more.  For whatever reason, he liked being close to her; but he would never be happy with her.  Dean didn’t need a pet, he needed a woman: He needed a Lisa, a Cassie, or even a Danielle, someone human he could have a romantic, physical relationship with.  &lt;Not that it matters, anyway.  Once the leviathans are gone, I’m sure Crowley has other plans for me.&gt;  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> In the morning, Castiel divulged the little he’d learned about Roman’s HQ to the others, and they started to put together a plan of attack.  Castiel and Dean would take the lead, Sam watching their backs, while Ash caused as much chaos as she could.  With an insane amount of luck, they would stab Dick Roman with the bone and send all the bastards back to Purgatory.  </p><p><br/> They drove up to the main gate: Cas, Sam, and Dean all wore business attire, and Ash hid under the footwells as a squirrel.  </p><p><br/> “Human,” Cas whispered from the back seat, eyeing the gatekeeper.  </p><p><br/> “Hi there!” Dean said brightly.  “We have a meeting with Don Asher.”  Don was a lower-level manager.  </p><p><br/> The human attendant nodded.  “Visitors’ parking lot is forward and to the left, just behind the executives’ lot.”  He raised the gate for them, and they passed through.</p><p><br/> “That was easy,” said Dean.</p><p><br/> “That was the only easy part,” said Sam.  </p><p><br/> The parking lot was quiet as they assembled themselves outside the car: Everyone was already at work inside.  Sam and Dean were already practically clanking when they walked, but they managed to strap more weaponry to themselves anyway.  </p><p><br/> “Ready?” Castiel asked.</p><p><br/> Dean looked at Ash, who had upgraded from squirrel to German Shepherd.  He turned toward the building, took a step forward, then turned back to the dog.  As he hesitated, he absent-mindedly spin-tossed a machete to himself, making Sam want to smack him before he sliced his own hand up.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah, I just gotta—” He dropped the blade, its point nearly piercing the toe of his boot, and Sam let out an exasperated sigh.  “Whoops.”  He turned his attention back to Ash, his face scrunched in what was almost a grimace.  “I just gotta say something real quick, while you’re still here.  Because, if we win, I know shit’s gonna go down—”</p><p><br/> “Dean,” Sam said, his voice stern in warning.</p><p><br/> Dean waved a hand dismissively at his brother, kneeling down so he was eye-level with Ash.  “No, dude, let me say it.  Look—I know you have to do what he says.  I get it.  I think it’s awesome that you have that kind of loyalty to anyone, though it probably shouldn’t be to him.  But if—if you decided you’d rather be with us, we’d take care of you.  We don’t have to be on opposite sides.  We make a pretty good team.”  He patted her head, then opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but stopped himself.  He stayed in that position for a moment, scratching behind her ears, then stood up.  </p><p><br/> “Right.  Let’s do this.”</p><p><br/> It took Ash’s brain a moment to adjust out of the warm fuzzy place she was in and remember that they were on a deadly mission to kill all the things.  She watched as Castiel headed for the entrance, followed a beat later by Dean.  Sam stooped down beside her and hugged her, then patted her head.  </p><p><br/> “Dean’s right.  You could stay.”  He stood up, looking forward grimly at Roman’s lair.  “If we make it past today, you could stay.”</p><p> Castiel pulled a pouch full of syringes out of his coat and knelt by the dog.  “There are still some humans inside,” he warned her, “But not many.  They’ll be the first ones to run from you, but you still need to pay attention.”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded, whimpering as the first needle bit through her skin and Cas depressed the plunger.  </p><p><br/> “Sam.  Dean.  You should get going now,” the angel warned them.  </p><p><br/> Ash shook herself off as the drug began to take effect.  Cas gave her another dose, then another and another.  She started to pant and drool, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.  She found herself unable to look away from his throat.  </p><p><br/> “Go!” he snapped, and she took off running around the back of the building. </p><p><br/> A gray dragon crashed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the third floor offices, ramming headfirst into a row of cubicles and crumpling the partitions like dominoes.  People screamed, and a pattern quickly emerged: Some people ran away, and those people were human, while others ran toward the commotion, and those would be the leviathans.  Identification problem solved, Ash thought as she shook herself off, dislodging glass from her scales.  Some of the people running at her had guns, which the human workers definitely did not have in an office job: She could take them out first.  </p><p><br/> The gray dragon is relatively small compared to its cousins, about the color and size of an immature African elephant, if one were to lop off most of the elephant’s legs and smoosh it into more of a lizard shape.  Its small size made it easy prey for larger beasts, in the mythical days when such things existed, so it developed a variety of adaptations.  At the end of its tail is a long, sharp, exposed bone, capable of sticking through a predator’s neck.  This particular breed also had spines it could raise along its back and tail, so anything that tried to jump it from behind would get a nasty surprise.  </p><p><br/> She spat fire at the goons in front of her and swiped her tail at the ones circling around from behind.  Bullets stung and burned as they pierced her hide, but they weren’t enough to slow her down; she pounced on the leviathans one by one, tearing at their necks and trying to rip their heads off with her jaws when she couldn’t get an accurate shot with her tail.  She set fire to anything she could, hoping to trigger the fire alarm and sprinklers, because nothing helped chaos like loud noises and water.  And the more she hurt and killed, the more she needed to hurt and kill, letting the drug take her over and control her.  She was only vaguely aware of her skin blistering and swelling as it reacted to the Levi goo, though the swelling of her tongue was beginning to hamper her bite efficiency.</p><p><br/> When the number of enemies surrounding her became overwhelming and getting shot at was growing old, Ash shifted into a green dragon, twice the size of the gray one and with twice the firepower.  She used her massive size to shove her enemies out of the way, her enormous jaws biting heads off with a single snap.  She spat out the heads and blasted them with fire, sending flaming projectiles rolling across the floors and setting fire to more cubicles like a deadly game of mini-golf.  </p><p><br/> She mutilated her way to the stairwell, where a number of leviathans were still running up to meet her.  She set them on fire, mowing them over as she made her way up to the 4th floor, which housed a small R&amp;D department.  She didn’t even bother to lop the heads off the guys in the stairwell, hoping they’d set fire to more stuff as they blundered around.  </p><p><br/> The fire alarm finally went off, followed shortly by the sprinkler system, as she smashed through the door to level 4.  There were already two bodies on the ground: The leviathans had killed their own human scientists.  Means I can kill anyone that’s still standing, Ash supposed.  </p><p><br/> She was in a lab that doubled as a storage unit for all the prototypes they churned out, and the leviathans on this level had a distinct advantage over the office drones below.  As soon as they saw her, they started shooting her with darts and little bombs that exploded into powders, each containing what was basically a different type of poison.  Ash ran head-first into her attackers, breaking tables and sending neatly stored cases of serums spilling open into the room.  It took a moment for her to feel the effects of what they’d shot her with, but soon enough she began to feel sluggish and her head started to spin.  If she dropped here, they would eat her alive: she needed a minute to think.  <br/> She shifted into a mouse, disappearing under a stash of rolling carts, and considered her options.  She could stay where she was, hope they didn’t find her, and wait for Dean to kill Dick Roman.  She could make a run for it, hide somewhere they couldn’t possibly get to her, like the far recesses of an air duct, and wait for Dean to kill Dick Roman.  Both of those plans involved her skipping out on her job, though, and that put Sam, Dean, and Cas at greater risk.  No, she needed to get back out there and continue to draw the attention of as many black-blooded bastards as she could.  What she really needed was more of the serum Cas had given her; it had to be here along with everything else, right?  But how would she even know it?  From her limited view under the carts, the boxes and canisters were all labeled with random letters and numbers, like “A159,” which surely meant something to the people in charge but was less than helpful to her.  </p><p><br/> The leviathans were all in a tizzy trying to find out what had become of her, but there was also chatter about other intruders elsewhere in the building.  Ash needed to be the biggest problem they had, or else the boys were about to have way too much company.  Right, she thought, You don’t need a serum to Hulk out.  You can do it all on your own, like you did that one time in training.  Don’t think, just feel—what do you feel?  …Tired, she thought.  Slow. Itchy …Okay, not working.  </p><p><br/> On the top of the shelves holding all the little prototype vials was a box marked “X412,” followed by three red exclamation marks.  That suggested that it was dangerous—but dangerous to humans, or to leviathans?  If it was dangerous to humans, it had the potential to hurt her; but if it was dangerous to leviathans, like Borax, it would buy her time to find what she needed.  </p><p><br/> There was a clear path in front of her, and she went for it.  The mouse scaled the shelves without anyone noticing her, sliding behind the box of serum she wanted.  She shifted into a cat to knock the box onto the floor; now everyone noticed her.  A few vials broke in the fall, but the leviathans didn’t appear too concerned about them—not borax, then.  One of them reached into the shelf and dragged her out, holding her in midair like it had never seen such a creature.  </p><p><br/> “Really?” it said, looking bored.  “That’s your plan?  That drug doesn’t even work on our advanced physiology.  What did you think it was going to do, anyway—start an orgy and distract us all from your sinister plans?”</p><p><br/> &lt;Orgy—so it is the right drug!&gt;  Ash twisted in the leviathan’s grip and shifted into a human, dropping to the floor as she got too big to hold onto.  She snatched three of the vials from their case, smashing them open against a metal table.  The leviathan in front of her cocked its head for a moment, confused, then decided it was better to attack now and ask questions later.  It lunged at her as she tossed back the little shots of serum, catching little bits of broken glass in her throat along with a liquid that burned and tasted like Lucifer’s vomit.  She stumbled back but wasn’t fast enough: The leviathan caught her by her neck, and soon five more came over to surround her, looking pissed off and hungry.  Ash struggled to breathe as her assailant gripped her throat tighter, a wicked grin on its face.  Maybe it doesn’t work if you swallow it, she thought, as she struggled to find the strength to fight back.  Its head rolled back and its real teeth appeared, gnashing their nasty rows upon rows, and its coworkers followed suit.  <br/> Ash felt the familiar fire surge through her veins, and the need to &lt;kill all the things.&gt;  She pushed out with her power, throwing her attacker back and blasting the surrounding leviathans back into walls and shelves.  She shifted into a gray dragon and charged, breaking everything she could as she rampaged around the lab.  Any leviathan unlucky enough to get in her way had its head swiftly removed from its body, and those who were smart enough to keep their distance were soon dragged closer with the help of her Nephilim power, and she gnawed their heads off as well.  The more monsters she killed, the worse her allergy became, and although her adrenaline was helping her ignore the itching and burning, nothing could help her eyes from swelling almost completely shut.  Regardless of what shape she turned into, she was now fighting almost entirely by sound.<br/> A few extra-sharp survivors had retrieved dart guns and were once more trying to shoot her with sedatives and poison;</p><p>she solved this problem by using her power to bend the barrels of the guns back, rendering them useless.  <br/> She managed to cause a bit more chaos, hanging out in the stairwell and flying up and down to take out anyone who might be trying to get to the boys, after setting fire to the elevators (which may or may not have destroyed them, but it felt like the thing to do).  She was facing down a nice buildup of monsters between the 6th and 7th floors, when they suddenly vanished in an explosion of black goo and gray dust.  The boys must have taken out the boss, then—she rushed to the ninth floor to make sure everyone was alright.  <br/> <br/> Judging by the aftermath, there had been an impressive explosion.  Sam was pinned to the floor under a toppled filing cabinet (though that could have happened during the preceding fight); Cas was on the opposite end of the room, lying on the ground like a ragdoll, his eyes closed and his head bleeding.  Dean was only a few feet away from Cas, on his back, and he also looked unconscious.  Sam and Cas only had minor injuries on the outside, but Dean…He was in bad shape.  Castiel was supposed to blink Dean away from the leviathan after he stabbed him to prevent them both from being blasted to Purgatory again, and to be fair they hadn’t been blasted to Purgatory; they’d just been blasted.  Dean looked like a 3rd degree burn victim.  All the visible skin on the front of his body was red or black, oozing white pus mixed with dark red blood.  His clothes were blackened and shredded and had melted to his skin, judging by the smell.  As Ash drew closer to him, she could hear him struggling to breathe: He sounded like Darth Vader without his helmet.  </p><p><br/> “Ash!” Sam called, and she turned her attention to the younger Winchester.  She shifted into a dog to fit better in the room, and finally noticed the extent of her own injuries: Though bullet wounds healed as she shifted, her leviathan allergy had caused extensive swelling and burning across her face, neck, and chest.  Both her eyes would only open halfway, and she couldn’t get her tongue back into her mouth.  Still, she was in better shape than the others; she took a step toward Sam and stopped when Crowley appeared in front of her.  The scent of sulfur was a welcome reprieve from burned human flesh.  </p><p><br/> Crowley motioned for Ash to stay put, and turned toward Sam.  “About bloody time,” he said.  “You boys do like to wait till things are down to the wire, don’t you?”</p><p><br/> Sam gritted his teeth and renewed his efforts to free himself from the filing system.  Dean groaned, and Sam strained his neck in order to see his brother.  “Dean?  Dean!”</p><p><br/> Crowley turned his attention to the older Winchester, studying him for a moment.  “He’s going to die,” he said, not quite cheerfully but certainly not sounding upset.  “Help him with that, will you, Ash?”</p><p><br/> Ash cocked her head to the side.  The way he gave the command, it half sounded like he’d asked her to kill him.  Crowley grinned and winked at her, shooing her toward the dying man.</p><p><br/> I knew it, thought Sam.  He finally wriggled his way free, but Crowley pinned him to the wall with his power.  “Oh, fuck you, Crowley!” Sam snarled in a very un-Samlike outburst.  “We helped you!”</p><p><br/> “Yes, have I not said thank you?”  </p><p><br/> Ash circled Dean with a growing sense of dread.  She’d never managed to heal so much as a butterfly’s wing, and now she was supposed to bring back an entire human from the brink of death?  She knew a lot was expected of her, but this was too much.  She looked over at Cas—if they could wake him up, he could heal him, right?  But Cas didn’t look like he was going to wake up anytime soon.  Was she expected to take care of the angel, too?  Surely Crowley could snap him awake—but that wasn’t the point, was it?  He wanted &lt;her&gt; to do it, because apparently it was part of the whole saving-the-world deal.  </p><p><br/> Dean made a strangled sound like he was trying to talk but couldn’t.  His arm twitched, then a leg, and finally one blackened hand moved up to touch his face.  Ash realized his eyelids had burned shut, so he couldn’t see.  Again he tried to speak, and she realized he was trying to call for his brother.</p><p><br/> Sam must have realized it too.  “Dean!  I’m right here.  Hang on.”</p><p><br/> Dean made the same noise again, and Ash wondered if his hearing had been damaged as well.  He was definitely in bad shape.  She continued to pace around him, hoping she’d magically gain her healing ability, but nothing felt right.  Tentatively, she reached out to him with her power—maybe if the power knew what she needed, it would do it automatically?  </p><p><br/> His body rose several inches into the air, then dropped suddenly, and the scream that he produced sent a chill down her spine.  Sam strained against the invisible hold Crowley had on him.</p><p><br/> “NO!  Ash, don’t!  You don’t have to do this!”  He was on the brink of tears.</p><p><br/> Crowley, meanwhile, looked like he was having a grand old time.  “Oh, but she does,” he purred.  “It’s all part of the grand design.”</p><p><br/> “Bastard,” Sam hissed. “Ash, please…”</p><p><br/> &lt;I can’t do it&gt;, Ash thought in frustration.  &lt;I don’t know how.&gt;</p><p><br/> &lt;There you go again, thinking with your head,&gt; Crowley’s voice said inside her brain.  &lt;What do I always tell you?  You spend too much time thinking about ‘why’ and ‘how.’  You know what you want.  You know it in your soul.&gt;</p><p><br/> Ash growled in frustration.  He wanted her to use her soul?  That didn’t even make sense.  But here she was again, thinking with her head…</p><p><br/> Cas had showed her what her soul looked like once.  He’d done that mind-meld thing by touching her head, and had been able to show her a projection of what he saw when he looked at her.  Her soul was like blue fire, with the flames composed of hundreds of tiny lines, each one making up a piece of who she was.  The description of a human soul would end there, but hers was different, he said.  Mixed in with the blue lines were strands of all different shapes and colors, some thin and some thick.  Each represented someone that she had bonded with over her lifetime: There were thin lines for the families she’d lived with for a few years at a time, and an enormous purplish-red flame that showed her connection to Crowley.  Then there were three gold streaks, smaller than Crowley’s but larger than her past owners, that represented Cas, Sam, and Dean (Cas’s line was the smallest of the three, since she’d had the least amount of contact with him, and Dean’s was the largest).  Castiel said he’d never seen anything like it, but he suggested that the marks on her soul could have real-life implications, like how Crowley always knew where she was, what she was thinking, and could communicate with her non-verbally.  “I would be interested to see, assuming the other lines grow, if you discover similar connections among the others,” he’d said.<br/> &lt;Connections.  Right.&gt;  She wished he was awake now to elaborate on his idea; as things were, Sam was alternating between shouting threats to Crowley and pleading tearfully for his brother’s life; Crowley was watching her expectantly; and Dean was starting to thrash and make the most unpleasant sound anyone with burnt vocal chords could produce.  It sounded like a dying animal, which, in essence,  he was.  </p><p><br/> &lt;Okay, Ash—your soul.&gt;  She closed her eyes and pictured the image Cas had shown her: Blue fire, a red flame for Crowley and the gold tendrils for her newest companions, with flickers of other humans in the depths of the flame.  She held the image firmly in her mind, and reached out mentally to grab Dean’s line.  She touched her muzzle to Dean’s chest, flinching at the feel of melted cotton and crispy, oozing flesh.  The smell was almost unbearable.  She took the gold line and imagined it touching Dean, coating him in a warm gold glow and renewing the damaged cells in and on his body.  </p><p><br/> Her legs began to shake, and she realized that the process was actually transferring energy out of her own body in order to heal him.  She fought to maintain the image in her mind, waiting for the golden energy to coat him completely before letting go.  She opened her eyes and slumped to the floor.</p><p><br/> Dean looked like Dean again.  There were a few small scrapes and burns, and his clothes were ruined, but they were no longer fused to his skin.  He sat up, touching his face and chest in astonishment: He’d thought for sure he was done for this time.</p><p><br/> Crowley released Sam, a smug smirk on his face.  Sam wasn’t so sure what he was happy about—Ash had clearly disobeyed him by healing Dean.</p><p><br/> “Wh—you—” Sam stuttered, giving the demon a wide berth on his way to his brother’s side.  </p><p><br/> “What happened?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “He ordered her to kill you!” Sam snapped, anger bubbling over the surprise and relief he felt.  “But then she—I don’t know how—it was like with Cas…”</p><p><br/> “Oh, right—Feathers,” Crowley said to himself, snapping his fingers.  </p><p><br/> Castiel’s eyes flew open and he staggered to his feet, pressing a hand against the wound on his head.  He would need time to build his grace back up to heal himself, but he was awake, and that was the important bit.  He remembered Dean stabbing Dick Roman with the bone, and being blown back in the explosion; and then it had felt like Crowley kicked him in the face, waking him up.  What the devil was Crowley doing here, anyway?</p><p><br/> “What happened?  Is everyone alright?”</p><p><br/> “Crowley ordered Ash to kill Dean!” Sam shouted.</p><p><br/> “Yes, you keep saying that,” Crowley said.</p><p><br/> Castiel’s eyes darted from demon to dog to Dean and back again.  After a moment’s study, he said rather uncertainly, “He appears to be alive.”</p><p><br/> Sam faltered.  “Well, now he is.  Ash—Ash healed him.”</p><p><br/> Castiel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; he crossed over to the dog, crouching down beside her.  He ran his hand down her back and she thumped her tail, tired but happy to have done what was requested of her.  “Hmm,” Cas said.</p><p><br/> “Excuse me,” said Dean, “but is someone going to kill me or not?  Because I’m pretty sure I was about to die a minute ago.”</p><p><br/> “No one’s killing anyone,” Castiel growled.  He stood and stepped toward the demon.  “Crowley was just messing with you, Sam.  He needed her to heal Dean—it’s all written in this supposed ‘prophecy’ he read.”</p><p><br/> “He pinned me to the wall!”</p><p><br/> Crowley took a step back as the angel advanced on him, but his smile never faltered.  “I couldn’t let you get in the way.  She’d never done it before; you would have been distracting.”  His smile widened wickedly.  “And there is a certain satisfaction in watching you squirm.”</p><p><br/> Sam stormed forward, stopping when Castiel held an arm out to block him.  “Not now, Sam.  We need to get out of here—not all the leviathans were destroyed.  We’re still in danger.”</p><p><br/> Crowley smirked at Sam, his mere existence on the other side of the angel taunting him.  “Listen to your angel, Sam.  Now, if you’ll just hand over my dog, I’ll be on my way—”</p><p><br/> “No,” Dean said, laying one hand possessively on her back.  Ash struggled to her feet, but her legs were like jelly; she lay down heavily.  </p><p><br/> “No?”  Crowley frowned, but when he looked at Ash she could see the smile still in his eyes.  “You want her?  The monster, I believe you called her?”</p><p><br/> “Yes,” Sam said, backing up his brother.</p><p><br/> “And you really think you could take her from me?”  Crowley could see the fatigue in the humans’ eyes, in the way Sam slumped slightly forward and the fact that Dean was still sitting on the ground.  Still, Sam drew the demon knife, always ready to skewer the demon.</p><p> <br/> “Later, Sam,” Castiel warned.  “This is not the place for a fight.”</p><p><br/> “She would stop you, anyway,” Crowley said.  “She won’t kill you, but she won’t let you kill me, either.”</p><p><br/> Illustrating his point, Ash pushed herself back onto her feet and moved so that she was between the boys and Crowley before collapsing again onto her side. </p><p><br/> “I’ll tell you what, though—I’ll make you a deal.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both bristled at the word.</p><p><br/> “I’ll make you an agreement,” Crowley amended with a dramatic sigh.  “No deal, no contract, just a mutually beneficial arrangement between two parties.  Ash is going to attract a lot more attention from…Well, everyone, now that she’s helped you boys send the Levis back to Purgatory.  Angels, demons, monsters.  Who doesn’t want their own overpowered nuclear weapon?  But I’ve got Hell to run, and demons are slimy little bastards with no sense of loyalty; it will be difficult to handle her on top of everything else.  So you boys keep her away from their grubby little claws, and follow the rules, and you can keep her.  I get her back whenever I need her, but you’ll maintain primary…Custody.  Agreed?”</p><p><br/> Dean got to his feet and stood by his brother; they exchanged a Look, each trying to see if the other had spotted the downside, because with Crowley there was always a downside.  The downside in this case, at least on the surface, appeared to be that Crowley maintained some level of control over her.  But he was right: Maddening and ridiculous as it was, she would defend him if they tried to fight him over it.  The demon would remain a part of their lives, like a damn splinter wedged up into the skin.  </p><p><br/> “Agreed,” said Dean.  “But I’m not kissing you.”</p><p><br/> Ash snorted, like she was trying to laugh but didn’t have the right mechanics.</p><p><br/> “Fine.  Agreed,” echoed Sam.   </p><p><br/> Crowley nodded in satisfaction.  He crouched down next to the dog, scrunching the fur behind her ears.  “Be a good girl,” he said.  And he vanished.  </p><p><br/> Sam muttered a string of insults and expletives under his breath until Castiel spoke up: “We really should be going as well.  Come on.”</p><p><br/> Sam picked up Ash and he and Dean stepped close to the angel, who placed a hand on each of their shoulders; with a flap of his wings, they were back at their car.  </p><p><br/> Cas stumbled and braced himself on the car’s door.  “Ugh.  That took more out of me than I thought it would.”</p><p><br/> Dean opened the back door so Sam could load Ash into the car.  “Yeah, well, you must’ve burned off all your mojo when Dick exploded.  I felt like…”  He shook his head.  “Well, it couldn’t’ve looked good from the outside.”  He looked down at his clothes when he felt wind in places where there shouldn’t have been any, and realized he was one thread away from being naked.  “Christ—you guys didn’t feel like mentioning my clothes—”</p><p><br/> “We need to go.  Now,” said Sam, as sirens sounded uncomfortably close.  </p><p><br/> Cas got into the back seat next to Ash, and Dean handed Sam the keys, too shook up to drive.  He hadn’t dealt with injuries like that since Hell, and they were starting to give him flashbacks.  He’d heard his skin sizzle, he could smell his own flesh burning and it made him want to vomit, but his throat was closed up—he didn’t think he should still be breathing, but somehow he was hanging on to life.  He couldn’t see, or even open his eyes, but that was just as well because he had the impression that his eyes were little more than dried prunes rolling around burnt sockets.  Then he’d been lifted up by an invisible force, and dropped, and he knew then that he must be back in Hell, this kind of pain wasn’t possible anywhere else—and then there was a pressure on his chest, not painful but not pleasant, either.  He’d thought he heard Sam’s voice, but all his brain could process was pain, pain, pain.  He couldn’t even speak to beg for death—not that it would help him in Hell, anyway.  The pressure on his chest built, but then it felt cool and soothing against his burns.  The feeling spread across his skin and into his body, tingling pleasantly like when Cas healed him with his grace.  He went pleasantly numb, starting in his chest and spreading up to his head and down to his toes; as feeling returned to him, pain did not, and the stench of burnt flesh was gone.  In its place was…Coconut and dog fur?  </p><p><br/> Castiel was worried.  The boys wanted to keep Ash with them, and truth be told he’d rather have the Nephilim in their hands than anyone else’s, but Crowley knew what he was talking about: She was stronger now, and she was only going to draw trouble from here on out.  In the beginning, she’d appeared to be nothing more than a standard animal shapeshifter, but now she practically screamed ‘Nephilim’ to any angel or demon (and probably lots of other things) that got a look at her.  Her soul was so bright, it almost hurt to see it.  And the angel couldn’t help but notice that one of the gold lines was thicker now than it had been yesterday.  Healing Dean had strengthened her bond to him—well, that would be alright.  It was about time she looked up to someone other than the demon.  And Dean wouldn’t do anything stupid, right?  No, that wasn’t the right question when dealing with the Winchesters—it was, How will we fix whatever stupid thing he does next?<br/> <br/> Back at the hotel, Dean was the first to shower off the remnants of leviathan goo, changing into clothes that didn’t reek of human barbeque.  Blessedly clean, he planted face-first onto his bed.  </p><p><br/> “Sammy, go grab us food?  Something with lots of grease.”</p><p><br/> Sam already had one foot in the bathroom, anxious to rid himself of the nasty black blood caked to his arms and hair.  “That formula’s still in the food,” he reminded him.  “It’s gonna be a while before it’s all out of the system.”</p><p><br/> Dean rolled onto his side.  “I will be a brain-dead zombie for a good burger.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  “After my shower, I’ll head into town and see if I can find something safe.”</p><p><br/> “Grab something for Ash,” Castiel reminded him before the bathroom door shut behind him.  He was petting her on Sam’s bed, trying to get an understanding of her current energy and power level.  He wasn’t strong enough right now to heal her, but Sam had managed to shove some Benadryl down her throat, which had brought the swelling down enough so that she could at least fit her tongue back in her mouth.  Healing Dean had drained her physically but strengthened her soul, which, in theory, would make her stronger when she recovered.  </p><p><br/> When Sam returned with burgers and oven-baked sweet potato “fries” from a ‘natural’ fast food place, Dean and Ash were both asleep.  The smell of food woke Dean instantly, but Cas had to give Ash a nudge to get her up.  Dean dug into his meal with gusto, stopping with a fry in his mouth as he gave Sam a look of betrayal.  </p><p><br/> “Dude, what the hell?  There’s something wrong with these.”</p><p><br/> Sam hid a smile behind his own meatless Impossible Burger.  “They’re baked, Dean.”</p><p><br/> Dean glared down at the little carton.  “But they’re French fries.  If you don’t fry them, they’re just little bits of potato.”</p><p><br/> “If you don’t want them, I can—”</p><p><br/> “I didn’t say that,” Dean said quickly, smacking Sam’s hand away.  “I just…Look, I’m in charge of food tomorrow.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  Dean was always in charge of food.  “Fine.  But if you turn into a brainless zombie—”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, yeah, I know.”  He picked up his burger and eyed it suspiciously.  “This one of those tofu burgers?”</p><p><br/> “It’s real grass-fed beef,” Sam sighed.  “I promise.”</p><p><br/> Dean took a bite and was pleasantly surprised.  It was juicy and flavorful, and the veggies were crisp and fresh.  “Good,” he said through a mouthful.  “But you’re still losing points for the fries.”</p><p><br/> Sam looked around the room.  “Where’s Ash?”  A paw touched his foot, and he looked under the table.  “Oh.  You, uh, wanna change and eat with us?”</p><p><br/> The dog shook its head slowly.</p><p><br/> “You can’t.”  Sam grabbed the food he’d ordered for her—a grilled chicken sandwich and sweet potato fries—and set it out on a napkin in front of her.  “There you go.”</p><p><br/> Ash tried to eat, but swallowing proved too difficult; she gave up and slumped against Sam’s feet.</p><p><br/> Between bites of burger, Dean said, “So I was in really bad shape back there.”</p><p><br/> Sam nodded.</p><p><br/> “What’d it look like?  Was my skin all black and charred, or red and—”</p><p><br/> “You’re eating,” Sam said.  “Doesn’t it bother you to talk about that kind of stuff?”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “I was just curious.  The sight, nah, I’m sure I’ve seen worse; it’s the smell that really got to me.”</p><p><br/> Sam gagged just remembering the inescapable odor of cooked human flesh.  It did have a certain Hellish quality to it.  Hoping Dean would lose interest if he talked about it quickly, he said, “You were black and red and oozing.”</p><p><br/> “Like that Pishtaco we set on fire?”</p><p><br/> “Uh…Kinda, but with less bubbling.  You probably smelled worse.”</p><p><br/> “So Ash can heal people now?  I mean, we already knew about the—”  He gestured wildly like a sorcerer “shit, but this is new.”</p><p><br/> “Yes,” said Castiel carefully, “but I do not believe it works the same way as angelic grace.  I have worked with her previously on healing, and she was incapable.  Our previous trials, and what happened to her soul, leads me to believe that she can only heal those that she has bonded with.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both turned their full attention to the angel.  “What happened to her soul?”</p><p><br/> “I believe it’s how she healed you,” he said to Dean.  “She lacks true grace, so she used the energy from her soul to repair your wounds.”</p><p><br/> Sam sat up straighter.  “What do you mean, those she’s bonded with?”</p><p><br/> “Everyone that Ash has known personally and for an extended period of time.  There are marks on her soul from all of her previous…Families,” Castiel said, because ‘owners’ seemed like the wrong thing to say.  “Each of us has a…A line, is the best way to put it, that shows she’s connected to us.  Dean’s line is larger now than it was prior to her healing him; therefore, I believe it’s directly related to how she healed him.”</p><p><br/> “So what about our souls?” Sam asked.  “We all have little marks from everyone we know?”</p><p><br/> The angel shook his head.  “Your souls, human souls, look the same throughout.  I don’t know why the Nephilim would…Take on bits of other people, but from today’s events I’d say it’s beneficial to all of us.”</p><p><br/> “Wait—she’s not &lt;taking&gt; part of our souls, is she?”</p><p><br/> “No, it’s…Well, I’ve never seen it before, but it’s not parasitic, if that’s your concern.  It’s more of a visual representation of the bond she has with others.  You both share bonds with many people, but yours are invisible on your souls.  Hers are visible and seem to be tied to her power.”</p><p><br/> All this soul talk had Ash feeling exposed and uncomfortable, even hidden under the table; she was relieved when the subject finally died and Dean went back to critiquing baked French fries.  </p><p><br/> After dinner, Sam and Dean both went straight to their beds, still exhausted from fighting and, in Dean’s case, nearly dying.  Dean, feeling generous, let Cas pick what to watch on TV.  The angel dragged a threadbare armchair over between the two beds and started flipping through the channels.  </p><p><br/> “Ooh!  Scooby Doo!” Dean said excitedly, and Cas decided he’d ‘choose’ Dean’s show.  The human would pass out in an hour or less anyway, and then he could watch all the odd little shows Sam and Dean were never interested in, like Planet Earth and historical documentaries (he was always interested to see what bits of history humans had got right and what bits they’d got horribly wrong).</p><p><br/> Ash still had the energy of a slug; she dragged herself out from under the table and went to lie down at Cas’s feet.</p><p><br/> “Up here, kid,” Dean called, patting a spot next to him.  </p><p><br/> Castiel watched as Ash reversed direction toward Dean.  It took her two tries to jump up on the bed; she sat down at his feet, but he motioned for her to come up to his side.  &lt;He’s certainly gotten attached to her.&gt;  Dean rolled onto his side and Ash curled up against his chest; he yawned and smiled, scratching behind her ears.  &lt;Very attached.&gt;  That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily; if Crowley was right and she could prevent the next apocalypse, they would all need to be on the same team.  The issue, Cas mused, was that Dean tended to have a bit of a one-track mind when it came to females, and there was no way that would end well with Ash.  </p><p><br/> Dean put his arm around her barrel chest, stroking the fur over her ribcage.  His eyes were on the TV, eyelids drooping as the minutes ticked by.  &lt;Maybe this is different&gt;, Castiel thought, though he couldn’t help drawing similarities between the way Dean was cuddled up to the dog and the way one might hold a lover.  It was also the way one could hold a beloved child…He felt that he still didn’t know enough about human nature to make any judgment, though with Dean it was hard to think of him with anything but the former.  He would need to keep an eye on them going forward.<br/>   <br/> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8: Eat Your Heart Out, Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ash bites off more than she can chew when the team hunts an ancient god.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/> There is a box in Hell that cannot be opened from the outside or the inside.  There are ways to open it, but they’re strange and complicated, and involve things like breaking the seals of Hell or uniting the rings from the Four Horsemen.  It’s more of a cage than a box, but to its current occupants it had become The Box.  There were two of them, and they had been there for hundreds, if not thousands, of Hell-years, and quite frankly they were sick of each other.  They didn’t get much company (make that any company, ever), so it was a welcome change for Lucifer when he opened his eyes and saw the young Nephilim instead of his idiotic brother.</p><p><br/> “Finally,” Lucifer sighed.  “You have no IDEA how long it’s taken me to find you!”</p><p><br/> Ash growled, fur standing on end, and shifted into a hellhound.  She recognized the Cage from Crowley’s description, and Lucifer was instantly recognizable for a number of reasons, foremost being that no other archangel had eyes that were so…Evil.  There was no other word for the vibe he gave off: This was definitely Lucifer.  </p><p><br/> &lt;You…This isn’t real,&gt; Ash snarled.  &lt;You’re in the Cage, and I’m…Not.&gt;  She’d meant to sound more sure of herself, but Lucifer was smiling at her, and every atom in her body was telling her that nothing good happened when he smiled.  </p><p><br/> “Astute observation,” Lucifer replied.  “And yes, I can hear what you’re thinking at me.  I’m tuned to more than just Angel Radio.”  He pushed off the wall of the cage with his elbow and took a few easy strides toward her; she backed up, arching her back.  “This is a dream, or…Dream-like state.  You’re asleep, and I’m in a sort of trance.”  He tilted his head curiously.  “I didn’t think you’d be a shifter.”</p><p><br/> &lt;You’re still in the Cage,&gt; Ash repeated, clinging to the one fact that made this very unsettling ‘dream’ okay.</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “For now.  You know I won’t stay locked up here forever; one day soon, I’m going to get out, and then I’m going to come find you.”  It was a simple statement, not threatening at all; he said it so casually, as if he was a neighbor who wanted to stop by for coffee later.  But it still made Ash’s blood run cold.  “Aw, don’t look at me like that,” he said, taking another step forward.  “You can’t believe all the propaganda you hear about me.  You just need to get to know me better.”</p><p><br/> &lt;You chained Crowley up like a dog and humiliated him in front of his subjects,&gt; Ash growled.</p><p><br/> “MY subjects!” Lucifer snapped.  “Crowley plotted to kill me, assisted in locking me back in the Cage, and usurped my throne.  I went easy on him.”</p><p><br/> Ash took another step back, aware that she was running out of free space behind her.  &lt;You were going to destroy Earth.&gt;</p><p><br/> “Well, they don’t call it the Apocalypse for nothing.  If that’s your beef, you should really take it up with my brothers Upstairs; they’re the ones who’re so gung-ho on waging war against m—”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash jolted awake as a foot connected with her ribcage.  Her gut reaction, since she was dealing with Lucifer, was to turn in the direction of her assailant and bite them.  She snapped at the air right next to where the foot had been and heard Dean yell in surprise.  </p><p><br/> “Hey!  No biting!”</p><p><br/> She blinked groggily and took in her surroundings: Perfectly normal motel walls and a perfectly normal bed in a bedroom that, and this was the best part, didn’t contain the Devil.  Dean had fallen back on the bed, feet now pulled protectively toward him, and he was glaring in the general vicinity that Ash was occupying, though he wasn’t focusing on her.  Ash looked down at herself: She’d shifted into a hellhound in her sleep.  &lt;She’d changed into a hellhound in real life when she had in Lucifer’s ‘dream state.&gt;  That was…Well, probably not good.</p><p><br/> “Dean?” Sam asked, sitting up in the opposite bed and yawning.</p><p><br/> His brother gestured for him to be quiet.  “You were growling,” Dean said, trying to figure out which part of the invisible dog in front of him was the head.  “And…I’m pretty sure you were a normal dog when I fell asleep.  So…Yeah.  Everything okay?”  Dean was &lt;fine,&gt; thanks for asking, despite waking up to the sound of a hellhound snarling at the foot of his bed.  It wasn’t like he still, on occasion, had nightmares about the hellhound that killed him and dragged him to Hell.  He was &lt;fine.&gt;</p><p><br/> Ash hopped off the bed and shifted to her human form.  She didn’t feel like searching for her clothes, so she grabbed a t-shirt and boxers from Dean’s pile of laundry (he hadn’t worn them on a hunt, so they were basically clean anyway) and threw them on.  She sat back down at the foot of the bed.</p><p><br/> “You okay?”</p><p><br/> She meant to say ‘yes.’  Always say ‘yes’ when they ask if you’re okay.  But what came out was more of a “Ungh…”</p><p><br/> Dean scooted back so that he was leaning against the headboard and patted the spot next to him in invitation.  “It’s ok; Sam and I still have nightmares all the time.  You want to talk about it?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head, but moved to sit beside him.  Dean knew a lot about Lucifer, but he wouldn’t be much help now: She needed a demon.  Maybe even an angel…She flinched when Dean put his arm around her shoulders, relaxing as she repeated to herself, &lt;Not Lucifer, it’s okay, it’s not Lucifer&gt;.  She leaned into him, focusing on the sound of his heart beating and the way he smelled: A little deodorant, a little soap, whiskey, but mostly just &lt;Dean&gt; and all human.  </p><p><br/> “Cartoons?” Dean asked, grabbing the TV remote.  They usually helped Sam when he was having a bad night.</p><p><br/> Ash nodded against his shoulder.  Dean found a “Scooby Doo” special and settled back, yawning.  The adrenaline from finding a hellhound in his bed was starting to wear off, and Ash seemed…Okay.  Okay-ish?  </p><p><br/> “So.  Do you get nightmares a lot?”</p><p><br/> Ash shivered.  “Not a nightmare,” she said at last.  “I…I have to tell Crowley.  And Castiel.”</p><p><br/> There was a flutter of wings as Castiel returned from…Wherever it was he had gone.  “Tell me what?”</p><p><br/> Ash opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t say it out loud.  She couldn’t say &lt;that name&gt;. “Can…Can you read my mind?”</p><p><br/> Castiel sat down facing her and placed a hand on her forehead.  A tingling sensation began in her temples and spread over her brain, down through her neck and spine.  She shivered again as he pulled away.</p><p><br/> “…Ah.”  </p><p><br/> “What?!” Dean and Sam said at once.</p><p><br/> “It appears that Lucifer has found her.  He’s using her dreams to connect with her.”  He stood.  “I’m sorry, Ash, but I don’t know how to stop him.  I’ll look into it, see if the archives in Heaven have anything to say.  In the meantime—Sam, Dean, I want you to wake her up anytime you notice her behaving oddly in her sleep again.  Growling, shifting—do whatever you can to disrupt the dream.”</p><p><br/> “Lucifer’s still in the Cage though, right?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “Yes.  I’ll contact Crowley, make sure he has eyes on it.  We all need to be extra cautious moving forward.”</p><p><br/> It didn’t take long for Sam to fall back asleep once Castiel left.  Dean was still sleepy, too, and he passed out still holding Ash.  Ash, on the other hand, had no intention of sleeping ever again.  She stayed awake, listening to the TV and the boys breathing, finally slipping out of consciousness just before dawn.  She didn’t dream at all.</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/>They had intended to head home after defeating the Leviathans.  But two hours out of Chicago, Sam received a string of texts from the young hunter Claire.  She’d run out of ideas on a case in South Bend, Indiana, and wanted the boys’ advice.  </p><p><br/> “She says she ‘infiltrated’ a church group,” Sam announced to the others in the car.  “Hang on, I’m gonna call her.”</p><p><br/>Dean smirked.  “She’s gonna call you an old man for not texting her back.”</p><p><br/>“Fine.  I’m not discussing a whole case over text.”</p><p><br/>“Hey Grandpa,” Claire answered him.</p><p><br/>Dean snorted.</p><p><br/>“Hah, funny,” Sam deadpanned.  “You’re on speaker, I’ve got Dean and—” he hesitated; should he mention Ash?  He trailed off instead, like he’d meant to stop at ‘Dean.’<br/> Claire didn’t seem to notice.  “So here’s the deal.  It’s one of those mega-churches that’s got, like, hundreds of followers.  Over the past 7 years, 42 girls and young women have been reported missing in South bend, and 39 of them were members of this church.”  </p><p><br/> “42?  That’s a lot of people to go missing in one town,” Sam frowned.</p><p><br/> “Yeah, no kidding.  The cops are treating it as some kind of mass-abduction thing, like for sex trafficking, but all those people?  And from the same church?  It smells like our kinda thing,” Claire continued.  “¬Oh—and they were all reported missing in the same month, February.  Which is why I’m here now, cause two more were just reported.  All of the missing members were part of this super-cheesy ‘fellowship’ group the church has.  I joined it last week and I gotta say, Bible-thumpers are crazy.  They meet twice a week and talk about how they were ‘saved’ and go on and on about all the Christian shit they did, like help a nun cross the street and stuff.  They’re all about being ‘virtuous,’ but—wait, what’s the opposite of pride?”</p><p><br/> It took Sam and Dean a moment to realize she was done talking.  “Uh…Humility,” Sam said at last.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  You’d think they’d show some humility.  But no, as long as they have freakin’ loyalty and honesty, they’ll be first in line to Heaven.  Not that they’re honest with each other, either—I bet they make up half the shit they say they’ve been doing—”</p><p><br/> “Have any bodies turned up?” Dean interrupted.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  One.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Well that’s…”</p><p><br/> “Disappointing?  Yeah, tell me about it.  It may not be connected to the other disappearances.  But if it is, it gives us a starting place.  It was the first victim—an 18-year-old girl.  They found her a week after she disappeared, badly burned, her heart ripped out.”</p><p><br/> Sam glanced at his brother.  “Werewolf?  But they wouldn’t target a single group, they’re smarter than that.”</p><p><br/> “It was cleaner than a werewolf,” Claire advised.  “I saw the photos.  It was a clean hole through the chest.  She had burns over much of her body, so it might have been hard to tell, but there was no evidence of claw marks on her either.  Autopsy says she was dead before they burned her.”</p><p><br/> “So, what?” Dean said.  “We’re looking for someone that can take a heart out cleanly, and then…They tried to burn the body to dispose of the evidence?”</p><p><br/> “And maybe there were no more bodies because they got better at burning them, or they chose to dispose of them in a different way,” Claire said.</p><p><br/> “Or, we’re looking at two completely different cases.”</p><p><br/> Claire cleared her throat.  “What about monsters that go after virgins?  Is there one that specifically eats the hearts of virgins?”</p><p><br/> “Probably,” Dean said.  “Can’t think of it off the top of my head, but I wouldn’t rule it out.  Why?”</p><p><br/> “That’s another one of the virtues this group has: Chastity.  You don’t have to, like, take a pledge or anything,” (Sam and Dean both thought back to a time they’d done just that, and faced off against a god) “But I’m pretty sure 98% of the group’s members are virgins.”</p><p><br/> “So you’re the other 2%?” Dean said, and Sam smacked his arm.</p><p><br/> “If that’s what this thing is targeting, that could be why I can’t get it to come after me, don’t you think?  I mean, it’s literally gone after all women ages 12-28.  Everyone older than that in the group is married, so they don’t have to follow the chastity bit.”</p><p><br/> “Claire…Maybe it’s a good thing it hasn’t attacked you.  We dealt with something like this before and it turned out to be a god.  You shouldn’t be up against a god by yourself,” Sam warned.</p><p><br/> “I can handle myself,” she said defensively.</p><p><br/> “You ever go up against a god before?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “Well no, but I—”</p><p><br/> Dean turned off onto an exit ramp.  “Freakin’ kids,” he muttered.  “Alright, don’t do anything until we get there.”</p><p><br/> “But I—”</p><p><br/> “Not a thing, Claire.  Text Sam where you’re staying, we’ll be there in a couple hours.”</p><p><br/> “You guys won’t be able to help,” she whined.  “We need to draw it out.  I need to find a hunter that’s a virgin.  And female.”</p><p><br/> Ash sat up straighter in her seat.  Sam glanced back at her and shook his head.  </p><p><br/> “Don’t think those exist,” Dean said.  “From the hunters I’ve met, we all seem to be kinda slutty.”</p><p><br/> Claire sighed heavily into the phone.  “Tell me about it.  So you guys are coming, then?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah,” Sam said.  “So please, don’t do anything stupid until we get there.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash slept most of the way to South Bend.  Every half an hour she’d wake up, look around her, realize she wasn’t having a ‘dream’ about the Cage, and go back to sleep.  She was still feeling run down after healing Dean, but the swelling had gone down significantly, and the rashes were really clearing up.  </p><p><br/> “Almost there, guys.”</p><p><br/> “What do you want me to do about…Me?  With the other hunter, I mean,” Ash asked.</p><p><br/> Sam tilted his head back so she could hear him better.  “Stay human.  Claire’s young and more open-minded than most hunters; I bet she’d be fine with you.”</p><p><br/> “But from what Cas said, you’re about to be very popular in the supernatural world, and the less she knows about you, the better.  So unless you find yourself in a life-threatening situation, no shifting or Nephilim power,” Dean warned.</p><p><br/> Ash nodded her understanding.  </p><p><br/> The motel was sketchy, even by Winchester standards.  The carpet was damp, the shower had no door or curtain so the water would run everywhere, and there were stains on one of the comforters that looked suspiciously like semen and blood.  Dean immediately claimed the cleaner-looking bed, groaning when he pulled the blanket back to reveal a host of stains on the sheet.  </p><p><br/> “I hope Claire’s room doesn’t look like this,” Sam said, standing tensely in the middle of the room like the walls would give him chlamydia.  </p><p><br/> As if on cue, Claire knocked on the open door and stepped inside.  “Hi guys!  Thought I heard you in here.”  She hugged them both before noticing Ash.</p><p><br/> “This is Ash,” Sam said.  “She hasn’t been hunting very long, but she knows a lot of lore.  She helped us out with the leviathans.”</p><p><br/> Claire looked at the three of them and the two beds.  “So, how do the three of you handle this?” she asked, gesturing at the sleeping arrangement.  </p><p><br/> Dean shrugged, trying to look casual.  “Sammy and I’ve been bunkin’ together.  Doesn’t work quite as well as when we were kids—he always hogs the blanket.”</p><p><br/> Sam glared at his brother.  “You punch in your sleep.  Not kick—punch.”</p><p><br/> “O-okay,” Claire replied.  “Never mind.”  She looked at Ash thoughtfully, then at Sam, then Dean.  “So you guys aren’t fucking?”</p><p><br/> “Claire!” Sam snapped, suddenly feeling extremely old, and mildly embarrassed that he was having this conversation with a nineteen-year-old girl.  </p><p><br/> “What?  Am I really supposed to believe you meet this hunter chick and take her along with you for shits and giggles?  You help people out, and people help you, but you guys don’t really do the whole ‘team’ thing.  So…What’s goin’ on?  Whirlwind romance?  Love triangle?”  Her eyebrows shot up suggestively.  </p><p><br/> “Not a—” Dean cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You read Twilight, didn’t you?”</p><p><br/> Claire shrugged.  “I was fifteen.  So sue me.”  She looked back at him expectantly.</p><p><br/> Finally, Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.  “Yes, okay, she’s with me.  We weren’t gonna say anything ‘cause it’s none of your business, but if you really won’t shut up about it…”</p><p><br/> Ash glanced at Dean: He was so good at lying, he hadn’t even broken eye contact with the young woman.  He’d even managed to blush a little, which was impressive.  Ash was awful at lying—she couldn’t lie to Crowley, and there hadn’t really been anyone else to practice on.  She took a step sideways toward Dean, as if her proximity to him would solidify his statement.  </p><p><br/> “Oh,” said Claire.  She looked disappointed that they weren’t in a love triangle after all.  </p><p><br/> “So we should probably check out this church group,” Sam prompted.  “And get a room at a nicer motel that won’t give us STDs just from sitting on the bed.”</p><p><br/> Claire blinked.  “I’ve slept in worse.  Hey, how does that work, anyway?  You do the college thing and put a sock on the doorknob?”</p><p><br/> Dean clenched and unclenched his fists.  “The church group.  Can you get us in?”</p><p><br/> She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes.  “Yes.  Fine.  I’ll introduce you to the pastor.”  She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway.  “Old people are no fun.”</p><p><br/> “Freakin’ kids,” Dean muttered.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They followed Claire’s stolen Jeep in the Impala.  Ash fidgeted uncomfortably in the back seat, scratching her neck.  “If that place gave me fleas, I swear…”</p><p><br/> “Fleas?” said Dean in alarm, suddenly getting the urge to scratch his ankle.</p><p><br/> “It was too wet for fleas,” Sam assured them.  “You’re just itching because it felt so skeevy.  It’s all in your head.”  He scratched the back of his neck.</p><p><br/> “You’re doing it too!” Dean cried.</p><p><br/> “Yeah, it’s…Contagious.  Like yawning.”</p><p> “Like fleas,” Dean grumbled.  </p><p><br/> “So Claire’s…Young,” Ash said, wishing she’d never brought up the pests.  It only made her itch more.  “How’d you meet her?”</p><p><br/> “Her father is—was—Castiel’s vessel.  When Cas died, so did James Novak.  Cas felt responsible for basically destroying her life by taking away her dad, so he helped her out of a tough spot.  Now she lives with our friend Jody Mills, a sheriff in Sioux Falls.”</p><p><br/> “She’s also a hunter?”</p><p><br/> “Jody’s…On top of supernatural stuff, but she has to be sheriff first.  So she calls us when she needs help.”</p><p><br/> The car was quiet for a few minutes.  Sam broke the silence: “That was clever, what you said to Claire.  She’ll figure Ash out eventually, though.”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “If she knows, Jody’s going to know, and Alex; they’ll become targets for whatever comes after her.  We’re gonna try to keep the damn nosy kid safe as long as we can.”</p><p><br/> “You were pretty quick to say you were the one she was with,” Sam said slyly.</p><p><br/> “Shut your face,” Dean growled.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They parked outside the ‘church,’ which was actually an old department store, next to Claire’s truck.  Dean glanced out the window to make sure she wasn’t standing right outside his door and turned to Ash.</p><p><br/> “Hey.  We don’t know what we’re dealing with here—could be a god, could be some really frigged up werewolf gang, who the hell knows.  What we do know, is you’re their target demographic, and if they’ve got any kind of spidey-sense they’re gonna sense your…Weird angel crap, and that makes you Target Number One.  So until we have an actual plan, you stay where Sam or I can see you.  Alright?”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  She felt like she could take care of herself—isn’t this what she’d been training for her whole life?  But she’d also been trained to obey orders.  She’d also never come up against a god before—Crowley’d said they were all narcissistic, power-hungry, and pissy since the three modern religions had taken over the world, and they were best avoided.  </p><p><br/> Claire led them inside, where they passed hundreds of folding chairs lined up to face a large scaffolded stage and turned into a cozy room that might have once been an employee break room.  A man in his late 40’s looked up from a laptop on a round table and smiled at them; a woman in her early 20’s sat down next to him with a cup of coffee.  </p><p><br/> “Claire,” the man said warmly.  “I’m so glad you could bring your friends.”  He stood up and walked around the table to greet them.  “I’m Andy, Fellowship Leader here, and this is Bethany, the Activities Director.”</p><p><br/>“I’m Sam, this is Dean, and Ash,” Sam said, shaking his hand.</p><p><br/>Andy had an enthusiastic and inescapable handshake.  He shook Dean’s hand, then Ash’s; Ash felt a strange tingle of energy when he touched her, and he held onto her hand for longer than was comfortable before finally releasing her and turning back to the group with a warm smile.  “So Claire says you’re interested in the fellowship group?”<br/> “Yeah,” Sam said carefully, “We, uh, we haven’t been to church in a while, but we were hoping to get back in touch with our faith.”</p><p><br/> “Well, I want you to know we welcome everyone.”  He leaned in conspiratorially.  “Except the gays.  They’re all going to Hell.”  He leaned back and laughed at the deadpan expressions on the others’ faces.  “I’m kidding, guys!  Just a little Trinity Church humor for you, don’t mean to offend.”  He turned to Bethany.  “Do I offend you?”</p><p><br/> The young woman sighed and rolled her eyes.  “You keep trying.”</p><p><br/> “Bethany’s engaged to a lovely lady; they’re going to get married here in the fall.  They start premarital counseling in a few months—we’re so excited for them.”  He cleared his throat.  “Anyway. You should come to fellowship night tomorrow—Thursday’s pizza night.  It’s a great group of people, really.  We do a little bit of Bible study, ‘cause, you know, church, but mostly we’re just there to support each other.  We play games—nothing real competitive like Monopoly, not since Dave had to leave in an ambulance—but fun stuff, like Apples to Apples.  You ever play Telestrations?”</p><p><br/> They shook their heads in silence.  Andy’s enthusiasm was a bit overwhelming.  How could anyone be this happy?  Ash glanced at Dean; the happier and bubblier the church man got, the more somber he became, like he resented the other man’s happiness.</p><p><br/> “We’ll have to play it tomorrow, then.  You’ll be there, Claire?”</p><p><br/> “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said with an overly cheerful fake smile.  “And I’ll make sure to drag these guys along.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Back in the car, Dean said: “Never trust a guy who’s that happy.”</p><p><br/> “What about the tingly thing?” Ash asked.</p><p><br/> “What tingly thing?” </p><p><br/> “When he shook your hand.  You didn’t get this weird tingly vibe?”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both shook their heads.  </p><p><br/> “I did notice he was kind of a creeper.  I thought I was going to have to pry him away from you for a second there,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “Okay,” said Sam, “So…He’s our guy?  Because that would be the fastest we’ve ever solved a case in our lives.”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “Yeah, I…Maybe.  Maybe his hand was staticky and he thought Ash was cute.  But even if it is him, we still don’t know what ‘it’ is, or how to kill it.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed.  “So.  Research.”</p><p><br/> “Research.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> They met Claire at a diner for lunch.</p><p> <br/> “Is that how he always is?” Sam asked Claire of Andy.</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “He’s always been that perky when I’ve seen him.  Bethany says he always gets real excited around Valentine’s Day, but he never talks about a wife or anything.  Maybe he just likes the holiday—people are weird like that.”  She looked thoughtfully at Ash.  “He did seem real into you, didn’t he?”</p><p><br/> Ash tensed.  “I guess so.”  She was trying to remember what she was and wasn’t allowed to say about herself in front of the other hunter, and handled it by saying as little as possible.  </p><p><br/> “We need to keep an eye on him,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “You think he could be the…Whatever?”  Claire looked surprised for a moment, then her features settled into a grim sort of determination.  “It’s always the friendly ones,” she muttered.  “Okay, I’ll tail him, tonight, then you can—”</p><p><br/> “Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Take it easy.  He could be a god, remember?  If he catches you, he’ll kill you even if he doesn’t want your heart.  We’re not runnin’ in guns blazing on this until we know for sure what we’re working with.”</p><p><br/> “I’m talking about tailing him,” Claire whined.  “Stealth ops.  No gun.”</p><p><br/> “No.  When we get out of here, we’re going to the library, then we’re going to get you out of that syphilis-infested, moldy old motel and find a place where the floors don’t squish when you walk on them.”</p><p><br/> Claire got a dreamy, wistful look.  “Hot water in the shower?”</p><p><br/> “Is that why you wear so much body spray?” Sam asked.  “When was the last time you had a hot shower?”</p><p><br/> “Well, I was at Jody’s…Hold on, it’s February, right?  So that’s…”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, we’re gettin’ you a shower before we go to the library,” Dean declared.</p><p><br/> Sam cocked his head to the side.  “How do you get your hair to stay like that?”</p><p><br/> “Dry shampoo.”</p><p><br/> Their food arrived, and talk died as they all rushed to stuff their faces.  Sam, with his grilled chicken salad, was the first to speak up in between bites.</p><p><br/> “You eat anything that didn’t come from a wrapper in the last week?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “It’s okay, they’re meal bars.  They have all the vitamins and gunk already in them, so I won’t get scurvy or whatever it is you worry about.”</p><p><br/> “Claire, I saw the back of your car.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, so there may be a few twinkies in between the Power Bar shit.  I’m an adult, lay off.”</p><p><br/> Sam briefly wondered if he could stab himself in the eye with his fork.  Claire may legally have been an adult, but she was still just a rebellious teen who thought she knew everything better than everyone else.  “Tell me something: When you’re walking around these…Motels, you at least wear flip-flops, right?”</p><p><br/> “Oh, I’ve already got loads of infections in my feet.  No point in protecting ‘em anymore—I’ve already got everything I could catch.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean exchanged a look that indicated fork-eyeball stabbing was a definite possibility.  “Maybe while Ash and I hit up the library, Dean could give you a few pointers on your financial situation?”</p><p><br/> Dean glared at Sam but nodded; Claire needed it, he couldn’t argue with him there.  Though he wasn’t sure Ash was going to be much help with research, given her limited history with books and technology.  </p><p><br/> “I swear, you guys are almost as bad as Jody.”</p><p><br/> Dean smiled.  “I think that was a compliment.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “So,” said Claire, leaning across the table in the library, “Ash doesn’t talk much, does she?”</p><p><br/> Dean had already explained to her some of the finer arts of credit card fraud, and they were now trying to find gods that had ties to February.  He looked up from a dusty old book.  “Can I just say, you smell so much better.  I didn’t even realize you stunk before, but now you smell clean—”</p><p><br/> “Yes, Dad, and I’ll get my feet checked out as soon as I win the Powerball.  So did something happen to her, or does she just not do well with strangers—”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  No, yeah, I think it just takes a while for her to really warm up to people.  But she’s never been real chatty.”</p><p><br/> “How long have you known her?”</p><p><br/> “Couple months.”</p><p><br/> Claire leaned farther forward in her chair, sitting on her feet.  “So how’d you guys end up sticking together?  Because I know you normally just do the one night sta—”</p><p><br/> “Claire!  What’s with the third degree?  We’ve got a monster to kill.”</p><p><br/> She sank back, pouting.  “I didn’t mean…Look, before everything happened with Cas and my dad, I had a boyfriend, okay?  I really liked him.  I liked the whole…Relationshippy thing.  Now that I hunt…Well, you know better than I do it’s not the kind of lifestyle that supports having relationships.  But you have a girlfriend now, or—sorry, is she your girlfriend, or are you more like ‘fuck buddies?’”</p><p><br/> Dean closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples.  Were all girls like this at her age?  Or did she just happen to be born without a filter?  “You can’t just ask me all this personal shit!”</p><p><br/> “Asking if you have a girlfriend is hardly personal.”</p><p><br/> He took a deep breath.  Just tell her crap until she gets bored and gives up, he told himself.  “We’re…Just ‘together,’” he said.  “We haven’t really labeled it since, you know, we could die at any moment.”</p><p><br/> “Right?  See, that’s what I want!”</p><p><br/> “To die at any moment.”</p><p><br/> She smacked his arm.  “An unlabeled relationship, asshole!  You think I can find someone like you found Ash?”</p><p><br/> &lt;I hope you don’t find anyone like Ash.&gt;  “Sure.  You’re young.  Keep not-dying for a few more years, you’re bound to run into a single hunter somewhere that fits into your general age-bracket.”</p><p><br/> Claire nodded to herself in satisfaction.  “Damn straight.”  She bent back over her book and started flipping through it, tunelessly humming a song Dean had never heard.  <br/> Freakin’ kids, Dean thought, but he was smiling.  If Claire found herself the right guy, maybe they could worry about her less.  Of course, if she found the wrong guy, Dean would tie a hex bag to his balls and give him to Rowena.</p><p><br/> On the other end of the library, Sam was more focused on his work.  “This could be something,” he told Ash, tapping an illustrated page.  “Februus.  He’s a Roman god, honored on February 15 in the festival of Lupercalia.  Says he would purify the city and bring health and fertility to its people.  There was virgin sacrifice, so that fits…I don’t know why he’d be here, though.”</p><p><br/> “I found a Quirinus, but there’s not much on him,” Ash said.  “Or there’s Fornax, who was apparently god of ovens, but I don’t think an oven would want people’s hearts.”<br/> “Okay, so if we go with Februus, what can we do?  Um…He might be connected to wolves somehow, so maybe he can shapeshift into one.  It doesn’t say how to kill—oh, yes it does.  It was believed that—okay, that’s gonna be rough.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked over his shoulder.</p><p><br/> Sam lowered his voice.  “It says we have to stab him with a goat’s horn dipped in the fluids from a human placenta.”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  “Okay.  What’s a placenta?”</p><p><br/> “It’s…Ugh.  The afterbirth.  It’s this pouch basically filled with all the nutrients the baby lives on while it’s still in the mother.”</p><p><br/> “Ah.  And I assume people don’t just keep that on hand, then.”</p><p><br/> He shook his head.  “We’re gonna have to steal one.  From a hospital.”  He waved over to his brother and Claire and motioned for them to join him.  “You guys find anything?”</p><p><br/> They shook their heads.  </p><p><br/> “Okay.  Well…Here’s the deal…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Claire spent the following day cozying up to Andy at the church, helping him set up for the evening’s fellowship meeting as well as helping him decorate the space for Valentine’s Day.  She studied how he moved, what he ate, even how many trips to the bathroom he made.  She got to see the rest of the church’s space, including the storage area; unfortunately, there were no doors saying, “SECRET GOD LAIR HERE,” but at least she knew the lay of the land.  Sam and Dean, meanwhile, were busy working out how to acquire a human placenta from the local hospital and find a goat’s horn, which was surprisingly hard to come by in such a large town.  </p><p><br/> “Hold on,” Ash said as Sam meticulously constructed their fake med student badges back at the hotel.  “I have a goat’s horn.  You don’t need to find one anywhere.”</p><p><br/> Sam nearly sliced the end of his finger off.  “Right.  I don’t know how I forgot—I guess you’ve never been a goat before, so I didn’t think of it.”</p><p><br/> Ash stood up.  “You have something that’ll cut through horn?”</p><p><br/> Dean grabbed their weapons bag and pulled out a bone saw.  Ash shifted into a goat, and Dean directed her to rest her head on the seat of a chair.</p><p><br/> “The eyes are so creepy,” Sam said, watching as his brother carefully sawed through the horns.  “They remind me of Lucifer.”</p><p><br/> Dean sucked in his breath as the saw slipped and gouged into the goat’s head just above its devil eye.  It bleated.  “Sorry.  You okay?”</p><p><br/> The goat nodded, so he continued.  “I’m gonna take them both, just in case we get separated or one is destroyed.  If Claire asks, we got them from a pet store.”  He finished sawing through the first one and started on the second.  “This has got to be the easiest case we’ve ever had.  Doesn’t it feel like everything’s just gone too smoothly?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Maybe it’s just our time for a win.”  Sam turned his attention back to the little badges.  “Or maybe we’ve got it completely wrong and we’re all going to die horribly.”</p><p><br/> “Well, look at it this way, Sammy:  It might try to kill us, but at least it’s not gonna rip &lt;our&gt; hearts out.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> The prep alone for infiltrating the hospital took the rest of the day; hospitals were high security these days, especially the maternity ward.  It’s not like they wanted to steal a baby or anything; most people threw the placenta away.  All they wanted was to take one before it was disposed of.  Medical waste had its own sort of lock-down procedures, and Sam and Dean were going to have one shot at bypassing them without getting arrested.</p><p><br/> “Maybe we should leave Ash here tonight,” Dean said as they were getting ready to leave.</p><p><br/> “What?  Why?”</p><p><br/> “I was just thinking: Assuming Mr. Clingy is our perp, he’s already got his eye on her.  Right now, we don’t have a way to kill him.  So she’ll be safer if she stays here.”<br/> “Yeah…I guess so…”</p><p><br/> “We tell him she’s got a stomach bug or something and couldn’t come out with us.  Next time we see him, we’ll have the nasty goat horn-placenta thing, and we gank him.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> The fellowship meeting felt a lot less like a cult than Dean had expected.  There were kids there, and seniors, and even people around his own age.  Andy was just as chipper as he’d been when they met him: He read a few passages from the Bible and talked about chastity and purity, and how it was important, in these hard winter months, to purify and cleanse the soul.  Dean had to restrain himself from saying something contrary—okay, a lot of contrary things—but the man’s speech was brief, and soon they were just a bunch of people talking and eating pizza.  Claire had been right: More than a few people felt the need to brag about what Christian thing they’d done, as if no atheist could ever serve at a food bank, but when they weren’t being prideful they weren’t completely insufferable.  Sam, Dean and Claire all took turns keeping an eye on Andy, which was difficult given the amount he bustled around the room.  </p><p><br/> “He’s not going to abduct anyone now,” Sam hissed to Dean as the man broke out a game of Telestrations.  “If anything, he’ll grab someone on the way out.  Corner them in the parking lot, or ask them to stay late and help him clean up.”</p><p><br/> Claire sidled up to them.  “I’ll volunteer to clean up if he asks,” she said quietly.  </p><p> <br/> “No,” snapped Dean.  “Even if he’s just after virgins, that doesn’t mean he won’t take out someone else as collateral damage.  These old gods, they don’t care about human life at all.”</p><p><br/> “Take a seat, fellas,” Andy said, suddenly much closer than they would have preferred.  Still beaming away cheerfully, he started passing out booklets and markers among several small tables.  “Anyone who wants to play, have a seat!  Just a reminder, there are still plenty of Bethany’s famous molasses cookies on the counter, so don’t hold back!  Gluttony may be a sin, but Jesus will forgive you an extra cookie!”</p><p><br/> They met their tablemates and started the game: A young man named Marty explained the rules to the newcomers.  Sam and Dean had never played a group game that wasn’t pool or darts; it felt weird, but kind of nice, to do something so ‘normal.’  </p><p><br/> “So how’s the new job coming along?” Claire asked, staring at the little whiteboard in front of her.  It said ‘cowboy.’  She flipped the page and drew what was supposed to be a man on a horse with a cowboy hat, but looked more like a mutant centaur with something attacking its head.  Oh, well.  She tried.</p><p><br/> “Well, we’ve still got a lot of work to do,” Dean answered, taking the little booklet from her and staring at the picture.  “I’m hoping we can get the project done by tomorrow night, but it depends on…What the crap is that supposed to be?”</p><p><br/> Claire laughed.  </p><p><br/> “Oh, oh, I see it now.”  He flipped the page and wrote ‘cowboy,’ then passed it to the next player.  “We’re already halfway there, really; it’s just that this last half is…Much harder than the first half.”</p><p><br/> “Maybe I can help?” Claire offered, now staring at Sam’s drawing of…A bee holding a knife, stabbing a man?  What?  Oh, ‘killer bees.’  She wrote her answer on the next page and passed it to Dean.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Definitely.  I’ll, uh…Email you the proposal tonight,” he said, sounding nerdy.  He didn’t know what else to say without sounding like he was a freaking spy speaking in code.</p><p><br/> “Email?  I mean, yes, right.  I’ll be looking for it.  Sam, what the he—what the heck, man?” she asked, censoring herself for the church crowd.<br/> Sam laughed.  “I just drew what they wrote.”</p><p><br/> It looked like someone kicking themselves in the face, but she couldn’t think of a word or phrase that would actually belong to it.  ‘Knock yourself out?’  ‘Foot in mouth disease?’  That one sounded good—she wrote that and passed it to Dean.  </p><p><br/> They got so caught up in actually enjoying themselves with what Dean referred to as the “Christian nut-jobs” that they didn’t even bother about Andy again until it was time to leave.  When Claire asked if he wanted help cleaning up, he declined, saying he had everything under control.  Just to be safe, they waited in the parking lot until everyone else was gone for the night.  </p><p><br/> “Well that was easy,” Dean said.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah,” Claire replied, “Too easy.  Why can they never abduct people when you need them to?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> In the non-gross motel, Ash was passing the time by looking at ‘lolcat’ memes and ‘fails’ from Facebook and Twitter.  Dean must have stolen his brother’s laptop at some point, because she kept having to close popup ads showing busty almost-naked women.  Sam would know how to clean his drive to get rid of them, or however it worked, but until he got back she’d just have to keep x-ing out of them.  One popped up that was a man, and she was tempted to click on it just so Sam would get more naked men pop-ups as a joke; but she knew they contained viruses sometimes, which could break his computer (she had a very basic knowledge of technology, gleaned from listening to her owners over the years).  </p><p><br/> “They thought you’d be safe here, didn’t they?” someone said, and her head shot up.</p><p><br/> Andy was standing by the television, grinning.  </p><p><br/> Ash shot to her feet, tensing for an attack.  “So you are a god, then.  You’re Februus.”</p><p><br/> The man took a little bow.  “In the flesh.”  He straightened.  “I think you know how this ends, so let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?  You’re coming with me one way or another; you can make it easy on yourself, or hard.”</p><p><br/> Ash bared her teeth; they began to lengthen into fangs, and claws sprouted from her fingers as she began to change.</p><p><br/> “Let’s not go having any of that,” the god said.  He snapped his fingers, and thick metal cuffs snapped onto her wrists and ankles.  It felt like he’d driven a hot cattle iron into her skin.</p><p><br/> Ash screamed and dropped to the floor, the pain overwhelming her.  She’d been chained with silver alloy before, but this stuff was pure: It ate through her skin, burning the surrounding tissue.  Frantically, she tried pulling the cuffs off, but all that did was burn her hands.  Barely able to focus on the world around her anymore, she pushed out with her power, trying to break them off.  When that failed, she pushed her power out farther, trying to attack Februus.  The god yawned at her attempt.  He knelt down and grabbed her shoulder.</p><p><br/> The motel disappeared, but the pain stuck around.  She clenched her jaw to keep from screaming, but she couldn’t stop: It felt like she was being burned alive (and Crowley had set her on fire before, so she knew what it felt like), only worse.  </p><p><br/> Februus frowned down at her as he lifted her onto a stone slab and attached her cuffs to chains, locking her arms over her head and keeping her legs locked straight so she couldn’t kick him.  Not that she could with the silver eating away at her calves, but still.  Her thrashing about was limited.  </p><p><br/> “I’m really sorry about the silver, dear.  I hate to cause you so much pain, I really do, but it’s the only way to keep you in line.”  He arranged a few objects behind her, and she realized she was on a make-shift sacrificial altar.  “Millennia ago, they used to worship me.  I purified their cities and brought them health and fertility.  Then this—this God comes along, doesn’t even give Himself a name, he’s just God, and all of a sudden they think they don’t need me anymore.  I nearly wasted away to nothing.”  His form wavered suddenly, like analog TV going out of focus, and now he was wearing a regal-looking toga.  His head was still humanoid but distinctly wolfish, especially the eyes, which were a deep gold color.  “But I can make my own sacrifices, take care of myself.  It is so hard finding virgins these days, though.  They get better with age, you know; but humanity’s lost the value of chastity, I fear.  That’s why I do these fellowship groups—Christians eat up all that stuff about virtues, and they’re happy to ‘save themselves’ for—well, for me, but they don’t know that.”</p><p><br/> Ash was about to ask him if he talked this much to all his victims, but she realized as long as he was still talking, she’d still be alive.  </p><p><br/> “I’ve never seen anything like you before, though.  I must say I’m impressed.  With the power inside of you…Well, I could be a real contender again.”  He ran a hand down her cheek and she flinched away from him, baring her teeth.  It wasn’t as intimidating now that they were flat little human teeth, but the sentiment was there: Fuck off.<br/> “There’s really no need for that kind of attitude.  I have no intention of letting you die.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked up at him in surprise.  </p><p><br/> “I see what you are and what you’re capable of.  Letting all that power go to waste would be a travesty.  All I need from you is a piece of your heart, and it will give me strength I haven’t known since Rome fell.  Your body will heal itself naturally, and we can do this all over again tomorrow.”  </p><p><br/> Ash whimpered as the god cut into her shirt like a professional surgeon.  </p><p><br/> “I imagine it’ll hurt like a bitch, but you’ll pass out before the pain is too bad.  Just think about all the lives you’re saving—you’re running around with hunters, you must care about that sort of thing.  With you as my little battery, I won’t need any more virgin sacrifices.”</p><p><br/> She was still having difficulty focusing on anything outside of her skin burning off: As the silver caused her wrists and ankles to harden and turn black, the burn continued to spread outward up her legs and arms and down her feet and hands.  She pushed out with her power desperately, but Februus waved it aside as he had before.  </p><p><br/> The god chanted in Latin, and he began to glow with the same gold glow that illuminated his eyes.  He held his hand over Ash’s heart: She felt the tingle of magic, then excruciating pain as his hand plunged into her chest and grabbed her heart.  She could feel the muscle tearing as he literally broke her heart into pieces, and then, mercifully, she lost consciousness.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean said goodnight to Claire and followed Sam into their room, already going over tomorrow’s plan in his head.  There had to be an easier way to get a placenta, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of how.  </p><p><br/> “Hey Ash, you miss us?” he called.</p><p><br/> Silence answered him.</p><p><br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> “She’s not here,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> Dean frowned at the empty room.  “She wouldn’t have left.”</p><p><br/> “Look!”  Sam pointed to an indent in the wall that hadn’t been there before.  “Sign of a fight?”</p><p><br/> “Damn it!” Dean hissed.  “We left her here to keep her safe, and he still got to her!  How did he—”</p><p><br/> “We stopped keeping an eye on him because we decided he couldn’t do anything until people started to leave,” Sam groaned.  “But he must’ve left the room half a dozen times to get stuff for people or go the bathroom or whatever—he must’ve been able to sense her, and…And teleport, like a demon—”</p><p><br/> “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”  Dean paced the room frantically, pulling at his hair.  “We have to find her.  She’s my responsibility—I can’t believe I let this happen!  God, I was so stupid to leave her alone—"</p><p><br/> “Dean!” Sam snapped.  “She’s our responsibility.  We’ll find her.”  He was struggling not to panic, but realized he needed to pull himself together for his brother’s sake.  “We should call Claire and let her know.”</p><p><br/> Dean stopped by the door.  “I’m not sending Claire after a god.”</p><p><br/> “Then we send her to the hospital.  We can’t kill him without the placenta.”</p><p><br/> He raked his hands through his hair.  “Right.  Right.  Okay, screw all the plans.  You’re gonna have to tell her about Ash.  I was hoping we could get away without her knowing, but she needs to know why this is so important.  Tell her about Ash, go to the hospital with her, and I’ll hunt down the son of a bitch.”</p><p><br/> Sam studied his brother carefully.  “Are you going to be alright on your own?  We need to treat this as a case—if you make it personal, you’re going to slip—”</p><p><br/> “It is personal,” Dean growled, and the look in his eyes reminded Sam of when he’d had the Mark of Cain.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash woke up in a different room, in a real bed, on top of the covers.  She could feel her heart beating in her chest, and it was slow and erratic.  Her limbs still burned, but the silver had managed to kill off most of her nerve endings so the pain wasn’t half as bad as it had been.  Chains connected to the cuffs held her loosely in place, giving her the ability to move around on the bed but not enough range to get off of it.  She felt for her power, but all of her energy now seemed to be focused on healing her heart and preventing her arms and legs from melting off.  Just trying to bend her fingers seemed impossible and brought a fresh wave of pain.  She gritted her teeth: This was the most defenseless she’d ever felt against an enemy.</p><p><br/> The god materialized at her bedside and she flinched.  </p><p><br/> “Ah good, you’re awake.”  </p><p><br/>She could feel the power emanating from him, much stronger than before: Awesome.  I’m his freakin’ power-up.</p><p><br/> “I’m afraid we got off on a bad start earlier,” Februus said, tucking a stray lock of Ash’s hair behind her ear.  She drew her head back at his touch, but he pretended not to notice.  “We could make this a mutually beneficial arrangement, you know.  You wouldn’t have to stay in those awful silver cuffs.”</p><p><br/> She glared back at him.  </p><p><br/> “If I knew you wouldn’t try to escape, I could let you out of them, you see.  I could give you the run of the place; get you anything you wanted.  With the extra lift you give me, there’s not a lot I won’t be able to do soon.”</p><p><br/> “And all you ask in return is to eat a piece of my heart every day for eternity?”</p><p><br/> “Oh, hardly.  I only require sacrifice at this time of year.  After February 15, I’m all charged up for another eleven months.”  He looked down at her fondly.  “We could be friends.  I’m more like you than those hunters you follow around.”  His expression shifted to one of confusion.  “Why are you with them, anyway?  They hunt things like us.  And they’re so promiscuous—definitely not the kind of people you should be around.”</p><p><br/> “Well they might sleep with a lot of chicks, but at least they’re alive afterwards.”</p><p><br/> “It is an honor to be sacrificed,” the god snapped back.  “Their souls ascend to the highest level of the afterlife where they are revered forever.”</p><p><br/> Not sure that’s how it works.  “They’re going to find you and kill you.”</p><p><br/> Februus smiled, showing more teeth than a man should have.  “Keep telling yourself that.  And when you lose your faith in your friends, I’ll still be here…My offer will still stand.”  He patted the top of her head.  “See you tomorrow, pet.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> It was February 10, four days since Ash had vanished, when the hunters finally reached the god’s mountainside home in Colorado.  Sam and Claire had gone into the hospital the first night she’d disappeared and broken every hospital security protocol and a few federal laws, but they’d gotten what they needed.  The next three days had been spent on a wild-goose-chase across the country, breaking into various properties they had managed to connect to Andy.  They’d found a few bodies, but no sign of Ash.  Each time they came up empty, Dean’s mood grew worse and worse.  He refused to let them stop to sleep, so he, Sam, and Claire had all taken turns driving (Sam knew it was serious when his brother let Claire behind the wheel; she was a young and somewhat reckless driver, and usually Dean wouldn’t even let her look under Baby’s hood for fear she’d break something).  Anywhere they stopped for gas or food, Sam made sure to do all the talking, because all his brother managed to do was yell at people.  Claire had to stop him from knifing a guy who cut in front of them at a Gas n’ Sip.  Impressed by the intensity of Dean’s behavior, Claire had asked Sam if he was sure there wasn’t more going on between him and the Nephilim; Sam had nodded and told her to drop the subject before Dean came back within earshot.  </p><p><br/> “Claire,” Dean said as they drove up the long, winding driveway.  He sounded unusually calm and collected.  “You know the plan?”</p><p><br/> Claire nodded from the backseat.  They’d gone over the plan at each location, and much as she found it degrading and annoying she’d learned not to argue about it with Dean.  “I wait twenty minutes.  If I don’t hear from you in that time, I take Baby and get to the nearest town.”</p><p><br/> “You think he’s really here?” Sam asked quietly.</p><p><br/> “It’s the last spot on the list,” Dean replied.  “If she’s not here…”  He shook his head.  “She has to be here.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> There was no point in struggling anymore.  Ash knew it, and her captor knew it.  Not that she could really move, anyway: The silver poisoning had spread up into her shoulders and hips, making her bones feel brittle and sharp, like broken glass.  Every time she bent a joint, pain lanced through her system.  The only comfort she had was that her spine was still unaffected; she could still turn her head and sit up with only minor aches from not moving around.  There was no need for the chains on her bed anymore, since she was unable to walk.  </p><p><br/> She kept still as Februus scooped her up in his arms to carry her to the altar for the sacrifice.  In the few days he’d been feeding off of her, he’d transformed remarkably from a scrawny-looking fellowship director into a figure that would have made Thor jealous.  He sported a glossy mop of black and gray hair that brought the wolf part of him to mind.  His muscles were so pronounced that Ash had to wonder how he could even bend his arms the way his biceps flexed, and his shoulders seemed to have doubled in broadness.  His powers had grown exponentially, too: each evening he’d stop by her room to tell her of the feats he’d performed, like curing everyone in a hospital (then smiting them when they’d failed to worship him), or granting all the pregnant women within a 50-mile radius of him quick and relatively painless childbirths (and then bathing in the blood of their infants when they refused to acknowledge him as Februus, mighty god of health and fertility).  </p><p><br/> He did still tie her arms and legs to the altar, because it was impossible not to thrash when having part of one’s heart removed.  Februus commenced the ritual, and Ash quickly blacked out as her heart was once again torn apart.</p><p><br/> When she came to, she was not back in her bed as expected, but still chained to the sacrificial altar.  There was a lot of noise coming from upstairs (the altar was in the basement, she’d learned), and she strained to hear what was happening.  </p><p><br/> She flinched at the sound of gunfire.</p><p><br/> “You know that doesn’t work!”</p><p><br/> “Don’t care.”  </p><p><br/> A few more shots were fired.  Sam?  Dean?  Had they really found her?  She needed to help them: She tried to move, and every bit of her objected at once.  Even if she’d been able to use her arms or legs, which she couldn’t, her heart was still healing and wasn’t going to let her do more than lie very quietly and breathe just enough oxygen into her system to keep it from shutting down.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “You boys are outmatched,” Februus taunted as he threw them both against the wall with his powers.  “Don’t worry about your Nephilim; I’ll take good care of her after I kill you.”</p><p><br/> Sam fought against the god’s hold on him and got nowhere.  He glanced over at Dean, who was having slightly more luck in the sense that he could move one arm.  As Februus approached, however, he knew it wasn’t going to be enough.  </p><p><br/>  “You’re outdated and unnecessary,” Sam said, hoping to stall him.  “Nobody wants you as a god—nobody needs you anymore.  People have been doing fine without you for centuries.”</p><p><br/> “Sammy, maybe don’t insult the god when he’s got you pinned?”</p><p><br/> “No.  No, he needs to hear this.  Humans have healthcare now.  We have vaccines and antibiotics and technology; we don’t need to worship some ancient god to take care of our health.  And fertility?  Hah!  There’s over six billion people in the world.  If anything, we could stand to have a little less fertility all around, know what I mean?”</p><p><br/> The god reached Sam and grabbed him by his neck.  “Maybe if humans weren’t all a bunch of promiscuous little whores like you boys, you wouldn’t have a problem with overpopulation.”  His power lessened enough for Sam to move his arms as Februus held him aloft, choking him slowly.  “Your kind will learn to appreciate the old gods again.  Now that I have the perfect sacrifice, I can bring my brothers and sisters back to power as well.  We will reclaim this world from your ‘new’ god you all seem to love so much.”</p><p><br/> “You worked in a church!” Dean blurted incredulously.</p><p><br/> “You find a better way of harvesting virgins,” the god sneered.  “The Christians are the only ones left that’ll listen to any sort of values these days.  You know there used to be women who would save themselves just to be sacrificed to the gods?”  He smiled fondly, remembering.  “They respected me back then.  Now all you hear about in February is the Super Bowl and this…This ‘Saint Valentine.’  Christians had to go and ruin everything, as usual.”</p><p><br/> Sam stabbed with the goat’s horn, but Februus grabbed his wrist before it could penetrate his chest.  He let go of his neck and twisted his arm until bone snapped, then flung him to the ground.  </p><p><br/> “You got me talking,” he said.  “Clever way to stall for time, but it hasn’t done you much good, has it?”  He held Sam down with his power and plucked the goat’s horn from his grasp.  “Very nice.  You’ve certainly gone to a lot of work just to die by my hands.”  He crushed the horn in one fist, letting the pieces crumble onto the floor.  </p><p><br/> Dean charged at him, tackling him to the floor.  The god countered by throwing him into the ceiling, cracking the plaster before he thudded back down.  He dropped his horn, which skidded across the floor and bumped against the foot of a lounge chair.</p><p><br/> “I haven’t had this much fun in millennia,” Februus smiled, tossing Dean through a glass coffee table.  </p><p><br/> He was having so much fun knocking their heads together that he didn’t notice the young woman creep up behind him until the last second.  He spun around to grab her and she ducked down, evading his grasp by slamming into his legs.  As he moved to catch his balance, wobbling forward, she drove the goat’s horn straight up into his heart.  He grabbed her wrist, but the weapon was already working: Gold light enveloped him and he screamed as blood poured from his wound and his eyes.  Claire wrenched her hand free as he collapsed to the floor and finally keeled over, dead.  </p><p><br/> Claire smiled.  “Well that wasn’t so bad.  I don’t know why you say gods are so difficult.”</p><p><br/> Sam groaned, pulling himself out of a hole he’d created in the wall, and held his broken wrist delicately.  Dean limped over to them, holding a throw pillow up to his head to staunch the flow of blood from large cut across his temple.  Both brothers felt bruised from head to toe.  </p><p><br/> “You were supposed to stay in the car!” Dean snapped.</p><p><br/> “You’re welcome,” Claire snapped back.  “I just killed a &lt;god&gt;.  Saved both your asses.”</p><p><br/> “Thank you, Claire,” Sam said.</p><p><br/>“We had everything under control,” Dean grumbled.  “You could have gotten killed!”  </p><p><br/> Claire raised her eyebrows.  She opened her mouth to retaliate, and Sam shook his head.</p><p><br/> “There’s no point in arguing with him.  Believe me.”  He turned to Dean.  “We still need to find Ash.”</p><p><br/>Dean rolled his ankle experimentally.  At some point during the fight, it had gotten twisted, but his adrenaline was too high to notice until now.  In the calm of the aftermath, though, it was hard to put any weight on it at all.  “Alright, what do you bet he’s got some creepy altar set up in his basement where he kills these girls?”</p><p><br/> Claire hunted around the giant house for a door to the basement while Sam and Dean performed first aid on each other.  Sam got Dean’s worst cuts bandaged up, and Dean set Sam’s wrist in a makeshift splint using bits of the broken coffee table.  When Claire called them over, saying she’d found her, they were at least able to follow her without assistance.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9: Eat Your Heart Out, Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's Valentine's Day!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ash!”  Dean hobbled over to the stone slab as fast as he could; Claire hovered at his side in case he fell over.  “Is…Is she alive?  She’s alive, isn’t she?  He said she was—”</p><p><br/> “I’m alive,” Ash said hoarsely, opening her eyes.  She managed to smile when she saw Dean.  “You know I’d never break the rules.”</p><p><br/> “What’s she talking about?” Claire whispered.</p><p><br/> “Never get yourself killed,” Sam replied from Dean’s other side.  “What happened to your arms?” he asked, looking at the state of her arms and legs.  The wound on her chest didn’t need an explanation.  </p><p><br/> “Silver.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, there’s gotta be a key somewhere.  Claire, can you look for that?”</p><p><br/> Claire began her search, still far more chipper than Sam and Dean, though the sight of Ash’s injuries had mellowed her out a bit.  Could she help it, though, if she was excited to have killed a god?  How many teenagers could claim that?  No, I didn’t finish high school, but I killed a freaking god!</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean worked to remove the chains from the cuffs; they were only clipped in, not locked with a key, so it was simple enough.  When they were finished, Sam went to help find the key and Dean sat down on the slab next to Ash, his foot giving him too much trouble for him to go running around.  </p><p><br/> “I shouldn’t have left you alone.  I was just trying to keep you out of trouble.”  He squeezed her shoulder gently.</p><p><br/> Ash bit back a scream, letting out a strangled yelp as his fingers pressed into the overly sensitive tissue.  Dean jerked his hand away.</p><p><br/> “Sorry!”</p><p><br/> “It’s…”  She paused, unable to speak through the sudden pain in her chest.  “It’s okay.”</p><p><br/> “Found it!” Claire called out, rushing back to them with the key.</p><p> <br/> “Just be careful,” Dean said as she started undoing the ankle cuffs.</p><p> <br/> Claire shot him a glare.  “It’s like handcuffs, Dean.  How bad can I screw it up?”</p><p><br/> As the first cuff was pulled away from her leg, Ash hissed in a mix of relief and pain.</p><p> <br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> “I’m fine.  It’s fine.  I…Can’t really feel it anymore.  I think it’ll be worse when I start to heal and the nerves grow back.”</p><p><br/> Claire finished getting the cuffs off and stepped back.  “Can you walk?  Or move?”</p><p><br/> Ash tried lifting her arm, but the effort put an unpleasant pressure on her heart.  She shook her head, frustrated at being totally helpless.  She felt like crying, but that would have used too much energy.  </p><p><br/> Claire glanced at the state of the Winchesters: Sam was steady on his feet, but wouldn’t be able to carry her with his broken wrist.  Dean’s arms were alright, but he couldn’t put much pressure on his right foot.  That left Claire, then, and while she was pretty fit from hunting she didn’t think she could carry a hundred-fifteen pound person up a flight of stairs without dropping them at least twice, and she could only imagine how painful that would be to Ash with her blackened skin.  </p><p><br/> “How do we get her out?” she asked aloud.  Maybe they could rig some sort of stretcher…</p><p><br/> “I got her,” Dean said, getting to his feet and wincing.  </p><p><br/> Ash looked at him nervously.  “Can you walk?”</p><p><br/> “I’ll manage.”</p><p><br/> Sam held an arm up in front of his brother.  “You don’t want to hurt her any more than she is, Dean.  I can carry her.”</p><p><br/> “But your arm—”</p><p><br/> “It’s just my wrist.  See?”  Sam slipped his good arm under Ash’s back and his injured one under her knees and lifted her easily.  He kept her weight off his wrist and felt fine.</p><p><br/> Ash didn’t feel fine.  Even the slight movement jostled her arms and legs enough to send ribbons of pain through her, and she bit her lip hard to keep from screaming.  She felt her heart jump in her chest and hoped she wouldn’t black out again.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> She couldn’t bring herself to speak, so she nodded instead.  I’m okay, she thought.  Just keep going.</p><p><br/> Sam looked at Dean uncertainly.  </p><p><br/> “It’s gonna hurt her, but we have to move her.”</p><p><br/> Sam nodded and headed for the Impala.  Claire followed behind him, staying close to Dean again in case he needed help.  Ash was loaded into the back seat as gently as possible, and there was a brief argument about who would drive.  Claire argued that Dean couldn’t because of his foot and Sam couldn’t because of his hand; now that Ash was safe, Dean was more reluctant to let her drive, but he broke down eventually.  Sam slid into the back next to Ash, trying to get her as comfortable as possible for the 7-hour ride back to the bunker.  She managed to lay somewhat flat with her knees slightly bent and her head on Sam’s lap.  Claire got the center seatbelt to go around her so she wouldn’t slide forward every time she braked, and they headed out.  </p><p><br/> Ash had slept in the back of the Impala several times, but it was much harder when her body was sensitive to every.  Single.  Bump and crack in the road.  She could feel her heart straining to rebuild itself, but now her arms and legs were catching on that there was no more silver around them, and she was starting to regain feeling.  It started in her thighs and shoulders, and for a while she wished they could just cut off her arms and legs because it was so damn unpleasant.  The silver had felt like fire, but this was like dry ice: Pins and needles, so cold it was hot.  She could feel the tissue crack and bleed as it tried to repair itself.  Her jeans started to stick to her with blood, and in turn they pulled at her skin, causing more pain and more bleeding.  She whimpered as tears finally slid down her cheeks, unable to even cover her face with her arm.  She scrunched her features together and ground her teeth, torn between writhing in pain and trying to lay as still as possible to make it hurt less.  </p><p><br/> Claire hit a pothole as she turned onto the ramp to the Interstate; Dean cursed and glared at her as the Impala dipped with a ‘whump.’</p><p><br/> “Easy, Claire!  This isn’t a stolen Corolla!  Christ!”</p><p><br/> “Sorry!”</p><p><br/> He patted the dashboard apologetically.  “She didn’t mean it, Baby.  You’re okay.”</p><p><br/> Ash groaned from the back seat and Sam sucked in his breath as a jolt of energy shot from her, making his hair stand on end.  </p><p><br/> “Um,” Sam said, unsure if he should say something to the other occupants of the car.  Dean would just make fun of him if he saw his hair.</p><p><br/> Claire wasn’t used to driving something as wide as the Impala.  As she merged onto the highway, her right tires connected with the rumble strip.  Ash whined and bit her lip; at the same time, the radio turned off and sparks shot out of the cassette deck.  </p><p><br/> “What was that?!” Dean shouted, smothering a tiny fire that had broken out on his jeans.</p><p> <br/> “I think it was Ash,” Sam said.  “Just…Take it easy, Claire.”</p><p><br/> “Alright, alright!  Sheesh!”</p><p><br/> Dean inspected the audio system, but there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage.  The radio turned back on without a problem, and the inside of the cassette player looked fine.  “Maybe we should sedate her.”</p><p><br/> “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sam said.  “She’s missing a piece of her heart; if we slow her system down more, it may prevent her from healing the way she needs to.”<br/> “What about Nyquil?  That’ll just make her fall asleep.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, okay.  We’ll get some when we stop.  In the meantime…”</p><p><br/> “I know,” Claire sighed, rolling her eyes.  “Drive safe.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> There was a sign warning of construction for the next 25 miles, so Dean prudently ordered Claire to take the next exit.  He wasn’t going to risk Baby going over 25 miles of grooved pavement, rumble strips, speed bumps, and uneven lanes with a time bomb in the back seat.  He could picture a smoking remnant of the Impala pulling up to a gas station, completely blackened from the inside out, as Ash cried in the back seat.  No, they’d be knocking her out for the next leg of their journey.  </p><p><br/> Claire grabbed Nyquil while Dean filled the car with gas, and they grabbed a much-needed fast-food lunch.  Sam’s request of ‘healthier’ was vehemently vetoed by Claire and Dean (“plus we can’t go to a sit-down place looking like this, and Ash can’t even walk,” Dean had added).  Dean swapped seats with Sam, which was possibly the only time in his adult life he’d ridden in the back of the Impala, so that he could keep an eye on Ash.  He still felt responsible for leaving her in the hotel and letting the god get to her.  Since Ash still couldn’t use her hands, Dean fed her French fries while he ate a rather messy burger, accidentally dripping grease and ketchup onto her forehead.  </p><p><br/> “Sorry,” he said, mouth full.  He grabbed a napkin from Sam and wiped her face off.  </p><p><br/> “Gross, Dean,” Claire chided, glancing at the scene from her rearview mirror.</p><p><br/> “Hey, just keep your eyes on the road, will ya?”</p><p><br/> “I’m not going to crash her.”</p><p><br/> “Not if you keep your eyes on the road.”</p><p><br/> Ash bit into a fry and immediately choked on it.  Dean helped her sit up, but it was hard for her to maintain her balance in the car.  She stuck her arm out as she pitched forward, and the sensation that shot up her appendage when she connected with the seat back in front of her really did feel like her arm had been dipped in the eternal liquid fires of hell.  She screamed.  Claire, to her credit, did not drive off the road, though she was very glad she’d just used the restroom when they’d stopped.  To Ash’s credit, nothing in the car exploded, though a large crack appeared in section of road they’d just driven over.</p><p><br/> Sam turned around to face her, but there wasn’t much he could do from his position.  Dean grabbed her shoulder to steady her, which hurt but hurt less.  </p><p><br/> “S—Sorry,” Ash panted once she’d recovered.  “Sorry, guys.”</p><p><br/> “It’s okay,” Dean said, helping her lie back down.  He ran his hand through her hair and she started to relax as the Nyquil took affect.</p><p><br/> Claire struggled to stay awake: She wasn’t used to day-long drives like the boys.  She got them to play Monster 20 Questions for a while, which was educational for her since she didn’t know half as much about the supernatural as Sam and Dean.  She’d wanted to play against the two of them, but she ended up needing help from Sam just to answer the questions Dean had for her.  Some questions also triggered more questions than answers, like “is it alive?”  Claire got into an argument about what was ‘undead’ with Dean, and in the end they both agreed it didn’t really matter, if it was moving around you still had to kill it.  They then played ‘Never have I ever,’ which seemed unfair facing off against a teenage girl until they realized Claire had a fucked-up past from losing her father and she’d managed to do a whole lot of wild shit in a very short period of time.  They established that the only ‘out there’ thing none of them had done was be part of an orgy, though Dean pointed out that there was still plenty of time for that.</p><p><br/> “Would you be part of an orgy with Sam?” Claire asked Dean, because at this point there really were no more boundaries.  </p><p><br/> “Sammy and I have an agreement,” Dean replied.  “The orgy agreement, if you will.  If both of us find ourselves in a group sex situation with multiple hot women, there are two rules: No eye contact and no touching.”</p><p><br/> Claire nodded her approval.  “Okay.  That’s fair.”  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.  “But if you can’t look at each other, wouldn’t you be more likely to touch each other?  Just by accident, I mean?”</p><p><br/> Dean’s eyes widened.  </p><p><br/> “Right?” said Claire, feeling proud of herself for finding the loophole.</p><p><br/> “Sammy, we may need to amend the orgy agreement.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  The odds that they’d end up in that predicament were a million to one, and anyway Sam was more of a one-woman-at-a-time kind of guy.  He’d probably bow out anyway.  Though if it’s my only chance to ever be in an orgy… “What about, ‘no prolonged eye contact?’”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Yeah, that works.”  </p><p><br/> Claire giggled.  Dean took this way too seriously, making an orgy pact with his brother.  Though, she decided, if she’d had a brother, she’d want the same rules in place with him.  Feeling giddy from fatigue, she changed the subject: “So you and Ash aren’t really a thing?”</p><p><br/> Dean coughed, and his hand stilled on Ash’s forehead.  “No, we said that because we didn’t want you to know about the shapeshifting angel-demon stuff.  Which, by the way, could you not tell Alex and Jody about?  It just paints a target on their backs for whoever’s looking for her.”</p><p><br/> Claire scoffed.  “Yeah, no problem.  I never tell them anything, anyway.  So who’s gonna come after her?”</p><p><br/> “Oh, you know, the usual: Demons that don’t like Crowley, angels that don’t like Cas, gods that want to live off of her like a battery…She’s real hot in the supernatural world right now.”</p><p><br/> “So all those things might come after me.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, sorry.”</p><p><br/> “No, it’s cool.  Things have been kinda boring lately, I could use a little excitement.”</p><p><br/> “If anyone comes sniffing around after a Nephilim, you call us right away.”</p><p><br/> “Yes, Dean.”</p><p><br/> They drove in silence for a few more miles, everyone feeling grim, when Claire suddenly lit up.  She grabbed her phone and hooked it up to the Impala’s sound system.  “What’s that rule about the car?  Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his piehole?”</p><p><br/> “Oh, nonononono-“</p><p><br/> “Boys, I’d like to introduce you to the 21st century, and a little something called ‘pop music.’”  She cranked the stereo, and Dean growled.  “This is Nicki Minaj.”</p><p><br/> “Not real music,” Dean grumbled.</p><p><br/> Sam smiled.  He may not have been a fan, but he loved when Dean got bit in the ass by his own rules.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Back at the bunker, there was a lot of hobbling and groaning involved in getting everyone inside.  Dean insisted he could carry Ash, then stumbled and dropped her almost immediately.  She did her best not to scream as her limbs felt like they were going to crack into a thousand pieces, and she felt pretty good about just bursting into tears; so she was surprised when a large rock exploded nearby.</p><p><br/> “What the hell?” Claire gasped.</p><p><br/> “At least it wasn’t the car,” Sam said, picking her up like nothing had happened.  </p><p><br/> “I am so sorry,” Dean said, getting back on his feet and limping along behind his brother.  </p><p><br/> “’S okay,” Ash said through gritted teeth.  </p><p><br/> Claire helped get Ash comfortable in the living area, propping her up on a couch with plenty of pillows, then watched Sam stitch up some of Dean’s cuts and Dean set Sam’s wrist in an actual splint.  Sam gave her the basic bunker tour while Dean iced his foot and kept an eye on Ash.  </p><p><br/> “Shower’s in there.  There’s towels and everything, and I think Charlie even left some fruity-smelling soap last time she was here.  You can have this room, all you have to do is make the bed.  And here’s the kitchen—we need to go on a supply run, but we’ve still got the basics—Dean is usually up by seven and making bacon if you’re interested.  Don’t mess with any dials or buttons in the bunker, and don’t try to open any locked doors—they’re locked for a reason.  This place is full of cursed objects and weapons we don’t understand.”</p><p><br/> While Claire settled into her room and showered, Sam returned to Ash with Vicodin.  </p><p><br/> “It’s a really strong pain medication.  I don’t know if it’ll work on a Nephilim, but it’s worth a shot,” he explained.  “It normally makes people really sleepy.”  He dropped the pill onto her tongue and helped her take a swig of water.  “Do you want a blanket or anything?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head emphatically.  Anything that touched her skin activated her raw nerves.  Her shoulders were finally healing, if it could be called that: They were now the same color and texture as elephant hide, and sore as hell, but they were less painful than her upper arms, which were now cracking and oozing as the cells worked to repair the damage.  If she didn’t move, her legs weren’t quite so bad either, but even a slight twitch from recovering muscle fibers brought intense pain as her skin brushed against and stuck to her jeans.  </p><p><br/> “How long does it take to work?”</p><p><br/> “A few minutes.”  Sam pressed a button in the wall and a flat-screen TV rose out of a cabinet.  “Want to watch something?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  </p><p><br/> “Any reque—”</p><p><br/> “Tombstone,” Dean said quickly.</p><p><br/> “Dean!”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “Always makes me feel better after getting my ass handed to me.  Come on, Sammy; she hasn’t even seen it before.”  Dean kept a mental catalogue of who still needed to watch which Westerns.  </p><p><br/> Ash smiled at his enthusiasm.  “It’s fine.  You said I’d pass out in a minute anyway.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  “You will if you watch Tombstone,” he grumbled, setting the system up.</p><p><br/> Dean’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.  He moved to the end of the couch Ash was on so he could see better, pretending he wasn’t inches away from her creepy black feet.  Sam grabbed a beer and brought one for Dean, taking pity on his sprained ankle, and Claire joined them once she was out of the shower.  </p><p><br/> “There wasn’t any girlie stuff.  I smell like a man,” she complained.</p><p><br/> “A clean man,” Dean corrected.  </p><p><br/> Claire took one look at the movie and wrinkled her nose: Old people stuff.  She rectified the situation by losing herself in her phone.  </p><p><br/> Ash began to feel much better.  The severity of her pain lessened to a bearable level, and she found herself slowly drifting off to sleep.  Not five minutes later, she woke abruptly as Dean whacked her leg with his hand, having gotten a little too animated in an argument with Claire about what good cinema was and how an appreciation of cowboys didn’t automatically make him an ‘old fart.’  </p><p><br/> “Gaaagh!”</p><p><br/> “Oh!  Sorry, kid.  You alright?”</p><p><br/> A feeling like hot ice slid up her leg straight to her brain and back down again.  “Mmph.  Fine.”</p><p><br/> Dean actually managed to look guilty, then glared at Claire like it was all her fault.  </p><p><br/> Ash managed to pass out again, and this time she stayed out.  When the movie was over, Claire went to bed and Sam and Dean fell back on their primary method of communication, arguing.  </p><p><br/> “Come on, help me put a room together for Ash,” Sam said, getting up from his seat.</p><p><br/> Dean looked at his brother in surprise.  “What?”</p><p><br/> Sam walked out into the hall, and his brother limped along behind him.  “A room.  Make a bed?  Since she can’t move?  Give me a break here, I only have one hand.”</p><p><br/> “I…Yeah, but, she’s been staying with me.  She doesn’t need her own room.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed, resisting the urge to slap himself in the face.  Dean may be his older brother, but he could be so juvenile sometimes.  “Okay, first of all, she’s human now.  Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged and crossed his arms defensively.  “I’m not gonna do anything, Sammy, and she knows that.  She just likes being close to me.”</p><p><br/> “You like being close to her,” Sam corrected.  “She just does whatever you ask her.”</p><p><br/> Dean opened his mouth to argue and hesitated.  She really would do whatever he told her, provided it didn’t violate Crowley’s rules.  But she did like sleeping next to him, right?  She would have said something by now if she didn’t.  Wouldn’t she?  &lt;Damn it, Sam, don’t make me overthink this shit.&gt;  </p><p><br/> “No, I can tell,” he said, starting to doubt himself.  “It’s what she’s used to—she was a pet before she met us, remember?”  He narrowed his eyes and jabbed an accusatory finger at his brother, determined to be in the right.  “You still think I have no self-control, don’t you?  That because she’s female and decently attractive, I just want to fuck her.”</p><p><br/> Sam glared back at his brother.  “I nev—”</p><p><br/> But Dean wasn’t listening anymore.  All the fear and frustration of the last four days, combined with the aches and pains from being smashed up by Februus, fed the channels of rage that were always just below the surface for him, his first defense against feeling actual emotions. “You think if she cuddles up next to me in her human form I’ll be so overcome by lust that I’ll just attack her, is that it?”</p><p><br/> Now Sam was getting angry at his brother for purposefully being an obtuse asshole.  “Dean!”</p><p><br/> “I’m not a Neanderthal, Sam!  She’s under our protection.  She’s my responsibility.  Only a complete asshole would take advantage of that.”  Under the rage, Dean choked on ‘protection’ and ‘responsibility,’ a ripple of some long-repressed emotion breaking through.  It wasn’t just guilt, because he always felt guilty: All the times he hadn’t been able to protect Sam, all his friends and family that had died, either directly or indirectly, because of him.  And now it was his fault that Ash looked like a damn charcoal briquette; he couldn’t let anything else happen to her.  He was done failing people.  </p><p><br/> Sam wanted to scream at him that he was purposefully misinterpreting what he was saying, but a sudden change in his brother’s demeanor had him backing off.  If Sam said the wrong thing, Dean’s wall of anger would go back up and there would be no getting through to him.  “I know,” he said quietly.</p><p><br/> Dean’s face scrunched up and his eyes started to water.  “She’s my responsibility,” he said, just as quiet.  His features flashed back to anger and he slammed his fist against the wall.  “I shouldn’t have left her there.  I should have known—he’s a freaking god, of course he could teleport—”</p><p><br/> Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder.  “You couldn’t have known.  None of us know how this works yet—how strong this…This ‘vibe’ is that she’s putting off, drawing this stuff to her.  But she’s a tough kid—Crowley trained her, remember?  She just needs some time to heal up and she’ll be back to normal.”</p><p><br/> Dean leaned his head against the wall.  “Everyone that gets too close to us dies, Sammy.  Because I keep making the wrong choices—”</p><p><br/> “You believe what Crowley said?!  He just said that to screw with you.”</p><p><br/> “But he was right.  Who have we met that hasn’t died a horrible death because of a mistake I’ve made?”</p><p><br/> Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You can’t blame yourself for everything bad that happens, Dean.”</p><p><br/> “Yes I can!”</p><p><br/> Alright, this was getting them nowhere.  “Okay.  Fine.”  Sam turned and walked back to the living area where Ash was still sleeping.  Dean followed on his heels, clunking along like Frankenstein’s monster.  </p><p><br/> “What are you doing?”</p><p><br/> “I’m not going to argue with you.”  Sam picked up the sleeping Nephilim as carefully as he could and walked back down the way he’d come.  </p><p><br/> Dean huffed, thoroughly annoyed at his little brother, and trailed after him.  His ankle was starting to swell from all the walking about.  </p><p><br/> Sam stopped in front of Dean’s room and motioned for him to open the door.  </p><p><br/> “Really?  You give me crap about—”</p><p><br/> “Shh,” Sam shushed him, afraid of waking her.  “Not arguing.”</p><p><br/> Dean opened the door and rearranged the pillows and blanket before Sam set her down on the bed.  </p><p><br/> “You know if you roll into her in your sleep she’s going to freak out,” Sam warned quietly.</p><p><br/> Dean nodded.  “I think I’ll stay up for a while, make sure she’s okay.  Can…Can you get the stethoscope?  I’d take her blood pressure, but there’s nowhere to take it from.”</p><p><br/> Sam nodded and stepped out of the room.  Dean took the opportunity to change out of his bloody clothes and wrap his foot, which took just long enough for Sam to find what he needed.</p><p><br/> She still had a scar over her heart from where the god’s magic had ‘cut’ through her.  Her heartbeat was slightly irregular, which meant the heart was still trying to regrow itself: If her body wasn’t also trying to heal the silver burns, it would have repaired itself by now.</p><p><br/> “She’s made it four days already,” Sam said as Dean looked at her helplessly.  “She’ll be okay.”  He turned to leave, stopping at the door.  “And if she isn’t, there’s an AED in the hall.”</p><p><br/> Dean settled back against a stack of pillows, foot elevated on yet another pillow (he’d raided most of the bunker’s bedrooms in search of more), and flipped his laptop open.  Wearing earbuds so Ash wouldn’t be bothered by the sound, he caught himself up on the latest supernatural YouTube posts.  There were a few hunters who ran regular vlogs, keeping the rest of the community posted on what monsters were popping up where, and what they’d learned about them and how to kill them.  The most entertaining by far was Randy from Minnesota, who always wore a Spider-Man mask (to protect his identity from any monsters who might be watching, but also just to make something serious a bit more fun).  He frequently used his collection of action figures to act out the events of a particular hunt: He was always played by Indiana Jones, while the monsters would take the form of Godzilla, Optimus Prime, Iron Man, or a headless Barbie doll.  His latest video was about a raid he and two fellow hunters had gone on to wipe out a vampire nest: There were so many vampires that he’d run out of handy action figures and grabbed salt and pepper shakers so he could show how they’d been surrounded.  Dean chuckled as Wonder Woman chopped the lid off the pepper shaker; Randy had little voices for everyone and made his own sound effects, making it funnier than it had any right to be.  At the end of the video, Randy grew more serious as he talked about other developments.  “The leviathans have, for the most part, vanished, which is great news.  I’m still advising people to avoid high fructose corn syrup, as the additive they used is still being found in processed food throughout the country.  And, as you know, when one asshole falls, two more step up in his place.  The Midwest is seeing an increase in vamp and shifter attacks, and I have word from my friend in California that there’s a powerful pair of succubuses—succubi?—that have teamed up to hunt together.  Hex-related deaths are up in the northeast; however, a bit of good news is that New York’s ghoul problem has been taken care of.  Anything you want to add, leave it in the comments below, and I’ll see you next week if I’m still alive.”</p><p><br/> Dean clicked on a few more videos, and they all said pretty much the same thing: No more leviathan problem, now we have a new problem.  Not that he expected anything different; and at least none of the other monsters were trying to team up to take over the world.  The only bad guys that had the numbers and organization to rival leviathans as a threat were demons, and Crowley had them fairly well under control for now.  </p><p><br/> A new “Ghost Facers” video popped up on YouTube’s suggested videos, and he clicked on it out of morbid curiosity.  The idiots were tackling an old asylum in Vermont where a group of six teens had recently disappeared, and after watching the video Dean decided it was sheer dumb luck that they’d escaped with their lives.  He clicked out of the video and set the computer on his nightstand, sinking further into bed.  He pulled up a playlist of old Scooby Doo episodes, falling asleep before the first one was over.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> &lt;”Hello, Ash.”&gt;<br/> She opened her eyes and what was left of her heart jumped into her throat: She was back in the Cage.  And she knew that voice.</p><p><br/> “I missed you.”  Lucifer sat down a few feet away from her, his snake-like smile just a little too friendly.  “Michael’s no fun anymore; I have no one to talk to.”  He tilted his head curiously.  “You look like you’ve been busy.  Silver poisoning?”  </p><p><br/> Ash gritted her teeth.  Really?  She was still incapacitated in the dream-like state he’d created?</p><p><br/> “And…What’s this?”  He leaned forward and poked at the hole in her chest; she hissed through her teeth and tried to swat his hand away with the charred remains of her own.  “Something’s been eating your heart?”  </p><p><br/> Well, it couldn’t hurt to tell him about that.  Could it?  “A god,” she muttered.  She tried to slide away from him sideways, but gave up quickly.  She was still in no condition to move.  </p><p><br/> “Really?  Not &lt;the&gt; God, obviously; even &lt;I&gt; would have heard if Dad was back in town, and He gave up the whole human sacrifice bit early on.  Still, they can be nasty little bastards if you’re mortal, or close to it.  Who was it?”</p><p><br/> &lt;Just shut up and let me wake up,&gt; Ash thought.  “Februus.”</p><p><br/> “Huh.  I’ve heard of the guy.  Always thought he’d be a bit of a chump, really.  How’d you manage to get away from him?  You can’t even sit up.”</p><p><br/> “I had help,” she replied.  She didn’t want to mention Sam and Dean.  “From Crowley’s…Associates.”</p><p><br/> “He really should take better care of you,” Lucifer admonished.  “Letting a god eat you…Hah!  He’s not fit to run Hell, let alone take care of a Nephilim.  And yet…No one has stopped him…”</p><p> </p><p><br/>  <br/> Ash woke with a start as an elbow smashed into her face.  She rolled back automatically, shaking her head to clear it, and rubbed the tender spot below her eye where the joint had connected a moment ago.  Though her arms still hurt, she was relieved to find that she could at least move them now.  Her arms looked better, if ‘gray and cracked’ could be considered an improvement over ‘black and oozing’, and from the feel of it her legs were the same way.  Her jeans were hard and crusty, chafing against her dry skin and setting her nerves off.  She flexed her fingers experimentally: Would she even be able to change?  Could she manage something as simple as unbuttoning a pair of pants, because she sure as Hell wasn’t going to ask anyone else to do it for her (especially since she didn’t wear underwear).  She thought about trying to ‘magic’ them off, like Crowley could do (okay, so he made clothes &lt;appear&gt; on her, but the concept was the same), but even if she knew how to do it, she realized it would take too much energy.  Right now, all her body’s efforts needed to focus on purging the silver from her system and repairing her cells so she could change out of this damned body and go back to being something more comfortable, like a dog.  </p><p><br/> Dean was asleep next to her; was he there all night?  It was his elbow that had woken her from her time with Lucifer, and though she was a little annoyed at being smacked in the face, she was grateful that her time with the Devil was over for now.  </p><p><br/>It felt wrong sleeping next to Dean as a human: that was a habit normally reserved for lovers and dogs, and at the moment she was neither.  If she was here, though, it was because he wanted her here, and it didn’t go against any of Crowley’s rules, so she decided not to worry about it.  She shifted her legs out over the edge of the bed, hoping she’d be able to at least stand up on her own so she didn’t feel like such a sack of potatoes.  One foot hit the floor, then the other, and the pain that shot up her legs was bad but not unbearable.  She tried to flex her toes and found she couldn’t even feel them.  Off to a good start, she thought.  </p><p><br/> Ash took a deep breath and lowered her weight onto her feet, sliding off the bed.  Alarm bells went off in her brain, saying the pain wasn’t worth it, but she told them to shut up and continued to move until she was standing upright.  Feeling victorious despite feeling like her legs were being assaulted by a thousand tiny garden gnomes with pickaxes, she lifted one foot off the floor and took a step forward.  </p><p><br/> She brought her foot down, and things went very wrong.  Without much feeling in the bottom of her foot, she somehow managed to miss the floor, putting her weight on the outside edge of her foot and falling onto it in silent slow-motion.  It wasn’t until she hit the floor that she yelped in pain, smashing her sensitive arms and legs into the wood.  <br/> Dean shot up, gun automatically in hand as he searched for the danger.  </p><p><br/> “Sorry,” Ash hissed.  “I just…I fell, but I’m…Fine.”</p><p><br/> Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes and finally put his gun away.  “Ash?  What—How’d you get on the floor?”  He slid out of bed, cursing as he thumped his sprained ankle against the bedpost.  </p><p><br/> “I thought I could walk,” she said.  “I wanted to try, at least.”</p><p><br/> “That went well.”  He picked her up and set her back on the bed.  “Ugh.  What time is it?”</p><p><br/> A quick glance at the alarm clock told him it was 5:30 am.  </p><p><br/> Dean yawned.  It was too early for this.  “Do you…It hurts?  I can—” he yawned again, cutting himself off “get you another Vicodin…”</p><p><br/> “No, I…It’s fine.  I’d rather stay awake for a little while.  You should go back to sleep.”  She was not looking forward to what she might ‘dream’ about.</p><p><br/> He shook his head.  “Have to get up soon anyway.  Gotta get Claire back to Jody, and her car’s in Indiana.”  He rolled out of bed and dragged himself into the little ensuite bathroom to change.  “Don’t try to get up,” he grumbled to Ash.  </p><p><br/> After he’d assembled himself, he lurched out into the hall to locate Sam.  </p><p><br/> “Sammy!  Get your ass up!” he shouted through Sam’s door.  He then proceeded to shuffle his way to the kitchen in search of coffee, and was surprised to find Sam already there.</p><p><br/> “What are you doing up?” Sam asked, handing his brother a mug.  </p><p><br/> Dean grunted.  “Ash tried to get up on her own.  Didn’t work.”  He sat down at the table and took a sip, already feeling more human.  </p><p> </p><p> Sam left his brother to check on the Nephilim.  “How you feeling?”</p><p><br/> “Better.  Almost everything’s gray now, so that’s…Better, right?” she replied, holding her arms out for inspection.</p><p><br/> Sam didn’t know the first thing about silver poisoning in shifters: He had only ever been concerned with what killed things before, not how to heal them.  But her skin did look more like skin than it had yesterday, so it was probably a good sign.  “Dean said you were trying to get up.”</p><p><br/> “I can almost walk now.  I just fell because I can’t feel the soles of my feet.”</p><p><br/> “It doesn’t hurt anymore?”</p><p><br/> “Oh, it hurts.  I just really hate being…”  She looked down at her legs.  “Helpless.”</p><p><br/> Sam sat down next to her and rubbed her back.  “I know.  But this is just a temporary thing for you, remember that.  And you’re safe in the bunker—nothing can sense you through the warding.”</p><p><br/> She huffed out a bitter laugh.  “Yeah.  Great.”  </p><p><br/>He gave her a sideways look.  “You’ve…Seen him again.  In a dream?”</p><p><br/>Ash nodded, tensing her shoulders.</p><p><br/>Sam sighed.  “Have you been seeing him this whole time?  Since the first dream, I mean?”</p><p><br/>She shook her head.  “Just the one time, and then just now.  I think when—when I was…Incapacitated, I wasn’t strong enough for him to make the connection.”</p><p><br/> “What did he say to you?”</p><p><br/> “Just wanted to know what happened to me.  I told him about Februus.  Said Crowley’s minions rescued me.”</p><p><br/> “Okay.  You should tell us every time he contacts you.  Cas should know.”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  </p><p><br/> “You want another Vicodin?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “I don’t want to go back to sleep.”</p><p><br/> “Fair enough.  Come on, let’s get you into the kitchen.”  He scooped her up and she hissed in pain as her limbs dealt with the new pressure.  “You okay?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.</p><p><br/> Back in the kitchen, Sam deposited her in a seat next to Dean and got her a cup of tea.  Ash tried to curl her fingers around it but couldn’t get the right grip, so she ducked her head down to sip out of it.  Eventually she managed to press both hands against the mug to tilt it forward without raising it, so she could drink without dumping hot water all over herself.  Sam made smoothies for her and himself, since she could drink that through a straw without the use of her hands at all, and Dean rejected the health drink on principle, limping around the stove to make himself a ‘real’ breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast.  </p><p><br/> Claire joined them, and Dean threw some more bacon on for her:  Taking pity on his bum ankle, she took over cooking and let him prop his leg up.</p><p> <br/> “I have some more smoothie left in the blender if you’re interested,” Sam offered.</p><p><br/> “Nah, bacon’s good,” Claire replied.  “I’m not old enough to care about my cholesterol.”</p><p><br/> “Neither are we,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Claire sat down across from Dean, sliding his plate over to him.  Dean handed a piece of bacon to Ash and she managed to trap it between her thumb and palm enough to bite it without it moving.  </p><p><br/> “It’s like watching a cat,” Sam noted, watching her curiously.  </p><p><br/> “Everything’s under control,” she said, getting a jolt of pain as she clapped her hands together to keep the end piece from falling.  </p><p><br/> “So, sorry if this is a stupid question,” Claire said, “But why can’t you just heal yourself now that the silver’s gone?”</p><p><br/> “It’s like poison,” Ash explained.  “Even though it’s not on me anymore, it’s still in my system—it sort of leaches through my skin, I guess.”</p><p> “So it’s like Kryptonite.”</p><p><br/> Ash gave her a blank look.</p><p><br/> “Superman?”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Oh yeah, like Kryptonite.”</p><p><br/> “Ash isn’t as…Clueless as Cas was when we met him, but she didn’t exactly get the full cultural experience either,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Claire stole a piece of toast from Dean’s plate when he turned to grab hot sauce.  “So, what’s next for you guys?  Got another case lined up yet, Sam?”</p><p><br/> Sam leaned back in his chair.  “I actually thought we’d take a couple days off.  I’m down a hand, Dean’s down a foot, and Ash is…Just down,” he said, glancing at her crackled gray skin.  “And we need to get you back to Indiana.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Right.”  Claire looked defeated for a moment, then brightened.  “Can’t wait to tell Jody I killed a freaking god.”</p><p><br/> Dean turned to his brother.  “Well, I’m glad it hasn’t gone to her head at least.”</p><p><br/> Claire kicked him under the table.  “I can be proud of myself!”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, you killed him, but we did all the work!  We got our asses kicked so you could just waltz in and gank him!”</p><p><br/> She rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, okay.  Whatever you gotta tell yourself, grandpa.”</p><p><br/> Dean glared down at the remained of his breakfast.  “Friggin’ teenagers.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Still feeling guilty about Ash’s abduction, Dean decided she shouldn’t be left alone in the bunker until she was fully recovered, so Sam drove Claire to the bus station by himself.  When he returned several hours later with lunch for everyone, he heard something that sounded like singing coming from the living area.  Was Dean watching a musical?  No, his brain supplied; Ash must be watching a movie, Dean is off doing an inventory of one of the old armories or something.  But as he walked through the war room, he realized it was definitely Dean’s voice singing along—really?  Singing along?  Sam set the food down on the war room table and crept forward carefully, hoping to catch his brother red-handed watching one of the ‘chick flicks’ he so vocally condemned.  </p><p><br/> Lingering on the other side of the living area’s doorway, Sam poked his head around the corner.  Dean and Ash were sitting on opposite ends of the comfiest couch.  Ash had her legs up on the center cushions, and Dean had his sprained ankle propped up on an ottoman.  And they were singing along to “Elephant Love Medley” while watching Moulin Rouge.  Sam had many questions: Whose idea was it to watch this?  How did Ash know the lyrics?  How did &lt;Dean&gt; know the lyrics?  When he locked himself in his room, Sam assumed he was just watching porn—was he actually watching musical romances?  He would have to steal Dean’s laptop and run a search history, assuming Dean hadn’t been clever enough to clear it first.  </p><p><br/> “WE COULD BE HEROES, FOR EVER AND EVER…WE COULD BE HEROES…”</p><p><br/> “JUST BECAUSE I---------”</p><p><br/> “Ahem,” said Sam.</p><p><br/> Dean choked mid-crescendo and hit the power button on the remote in an instant, switching the TV off.  “Sam,” he coughed, face turning a lovely shade of pink, “I didn’t hear you come in.”</p><p><br/> Sam had the biggest grin on his face, Dean thought the top of his head might split off.  “So.  Whatcha been doing?”</p><p><br/> Dean stared at his brother wordlessly, the little gears in his head working furiously to come up with an explanation that didn’t involve him actually watching Moulin Rouge.<br/> “I wanted to see it,” Ash said quickly.  “I used to watch it with C—With one of my old owners.  Dean said he’d watch it with me because I was sick.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s smile faltered only a hair.  “Ah, makes sense.”  He took another step into the room.  “So you’ve never seen this before, Dean?”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “I mean, I might have stumbled across it at 3 am, or…At a girl’s house, or something.”</p><p><br/> “You ‘stumbled across it’ enough times to memorize all the songs, I guess.”  </p><p><br/> Dean swung his injured foot down and stood ungracefully.  “Shut up, Sammy!”</p><p><br/> Sam giggled like a 4-year-old.  “You know I don’t care, right?  It’s only funny because you think it’s embarrassing—”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, whatever.  You brought food?”</p><p><br/> “Stay there, I’ll go get it.”  Sam walked back to the table and grabbed the takeout bags.  “Might as well turn it back on and watch the rest of it.”</p><p><br/> “You want to watch it?” Dean said, sitting back down and putting his leg up again.</p><p><br/> Sam dropped a paper bag in his lap, smelling of grease and extra cholesterol.  “You know I like musicals.  And Nicole Kidman.”  He handed Ash a smoothie (he’d decided it would be the easiest thing for her to eat) and sat down in an armchair to eat his own healthy grilled chicken salad.  </p><p><br/> Dean sighed: His brother knew his dirty little secret now, there was no use pretending he didn’t like it.  He turned the TV back on and, after a few sideways glances to see how hard Sam was judging him, settled back into singing along.  He belted out “Come What May” with Ewan McGregor in the finale, determined to be louder than Sam; Ash was having trouble hitting some of Nicole Kidman’s high notes, but she was putting in a valiant effort.  Halfway through, though, Ash choked on the words and burst into tears.  Dean’s first thought was that the silver poisoning was bothering her: He stopped singing as well and looked at her with concern.  Sam took a moment to notice, but he evidently had the same thought as Dean.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?”</p><p><br/> She turned her face into the back of the couch, trying to hide her expression.</p><p><br/> “What’s wrong?”</p><p><br/> “Nothing,” she snapped, her voice slightly muffled through the cushion.  “Look, just—it’s a chick flick, alright—I’m a chick.”</p><p><br/> Dean laughed, then felt bad about it and tried to cover it up as a cough.  “You—”</p><p><br/> “Shut up.”  She burrowed farther into the cushion, frustrated that she couldn’t even walk away from them without screaming in pain.  She didn’t even know why she was crying.  “I’m tired, alright?  A god ate my freaking heart.”  She’d been happy a moment ago, and it wasn’t that she was sad now, exactly; she was just emotional.  It was the damn song: She’d heard it a dozen times before, but this time she’d felt it, really taken the words to heart and felt them in her soul, like a freaking teenage girl.  The song reminded her of all the times she’d sat with Crowley and watched the movie; he’d cried, sometimes, a side effect from being too close to her, but he didn’t mind as long as no other demons saw him.  She knew it was painful for him to be around her for long periods of time, because he’d start remembering what it was like to be human, and feeling things, but he seemed to enjoy crying, like it was therapeutic for him.  And now Ash was crying remembering Crowley crying, which was messed up in its own weird way.  </p><p><br/> “You know it’s not real, right?”</p><p><br/> Ash snapped her head up to glare at him.  “Yes.  I’m not…Ugh.  Never mind.”  She shook her head and went to stand up, getting two steps in before her legs protested and gave out.</p><p><br/> Dean jumped to help her, forgetting his ankle was busted, and twisted back into the side of the couch so he wouldn’t fall on her.  Luckily Sam had jumped up at the same time, and she was able to grab his good arm before she hit the floor.  Ash hissed in pain and frustration.  At least she’d stopped crying.</p><p><br/> “Hey,” Sam said softly.  “You’re okay.  Sit down.”</p><p><br/> Ash slumped back into her seat, sniffling.  The only thing she hated more than being helpless, was letting them see that she was helpless.  She might be sickeningly submissive and obedient, but she’d always had the ability to push back, if she really wanted to.  She’d allowed herself to be vulnerable before, but to actually be vulnerable was something else entirely.  It sucked.</p><p><br/> Dean elected to watch True Grit next, and Sam grabbed a stack of books to go through in order to avoid actually paying attention.  Ash fell asleep about halfway through, but Dean was still convinced he could get her on the cowboy bandwagon someday.  If only Sam wasn’t constantly yawning and rolling his eyes through his movies, she might see the light…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash healed infuriatingly slowly.  Her skin gradually faded from black to dark gray to light gray, all the time growing new nerves and finding new pathways for pain to form.  When she could finally stand on her own, she had to ask Dean how the shower worked, because her normal strategy of shifting herself clean wasn’t happening.  <br/> Dean went over the elaborate Men of Letters shower functions, then gave a short lesson on the different cleaning products.</p><p><br/> “You’ll want Sam’s shampoo, it’s got conditioner in it, which is important when you have long Princess hair like he does.  This one’s soap—you will smell like a man, sorry—and this is face wash.”  He went over how much of each product to use, and how to lather-rinse-repeat.  It was a little bizarre explaining all this to an adult, but he’d explained stranger things to Cas.  Hell, he’d explained showering to Cas not too many years ago; any more supernatural people showed up, he’d have his spiel down and ready to go.  </p><p><br/> Ash really did smell like a man after her shower, but since the man in question was Sam (and Dean) she didn’t really mind: She just smelled like ‘home.’  She did discover that hair takes a very long time to dry, so Sam twisted it up into a bun for her, securing it with a rubber band, to keep it from soaking her shirt.  </p><p><br/> “You have a secret I need to know about?” Dean asked when Sam proved a little too handy with his styling skills.</p><p><br/> Sam glared at his brother.  “I watched Jess do this a thousand times.  You’re going to say I’m the gay best friend because I can do women’s hair, aren’t you?”</p><p><br/> Dean’s smile dropped slightly.  That was exactly what he was going to say.  “You gonna do her nails next?”</p><p><br/> “You gonna sing for us if I do?” Sam shot back, recalling Dean’s familiarity with Moulin Rouge.</p><p><br/> “Hah.  Hey, Moulin Rouge is a classic.  It’s a manly…Masculine drama with musical numbers—”</p><p><br/> “Which is why you refused to watch it when I was around?”</p><p><br/> “Bitch.”</p><p><br/> “Jerk.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash woke up at 2:24 am on February 14, itching like she’d just gotten out of a full-body cast.  Her sleep had been so poor the last few nights that Lucifer hadn’t been able to contact her, but she was still ready to be done healing and get back to normal.  She rolled out of bed without waking Dean and padded down the hall to the showers, feeling skin peel off under her nails as she scratched at her arms.  She shut the door quietly behind her and looked in the full-length mirror on the back of it: There was hardly any gray tint to her at all anymore.  Her skin looked raw and pink, and large flakes were beginning to peel off like a bad sunburn.  She stripped off her clothes, and skin fell out of the inside of her shirt and pants like big, snowy flakes of dandruff.  </p><p><br/> Okay, she thought, this is it.  Enough is enough.  She continued to scratch at her arms but focused her mind on that beloved form, the German Shepherd.  Her skin crackled, her muscles and bones protested, but she pushed forward with her mind.  There was a brief, intense pain like being stabbed everywhere with a hot knife, and then the feeling faded, and she fell forward to the floor, catching herself on her front paws.  </p><p><br/> Ash straightened and shook herself off, doing a mental inventory: Nose, head, ears—check.  Fur, feet, tail—check.  All the necessary internal organs were the right size and in the right place.  </p><p><br/> I’m back, baby.  </p><p><br/> To celebrate, she went out for a run.  It was 15 degrees outside, but she had a fur coat—cold was no obstacle for her.  She took off down an empty road and across a snowy field, shedding the claustrophobia and bored frustration from the past few days.  She ran through miles of farmland and old cattle pastures, keeping her speed up over the flat Kansas prairie.  Above her, a crescent moon faded in and out of cloud cover.  Stars winked in and out of focus as a strong wind carried more clouds across the night sky.  On the ground, snow swirled around her, but the world was quiet: There were no humans or animals stirring right now.  It was peaceful, but after about an hour the silence started to feel less safe.  She thought about how easy it had been for Februus to nab her: Shivering, she turned around and headed back to the bunker.  </p><p> </p><p> It was just past 4:00 when she skidded to a stop in front of the bunker and shifted to human to open the door.  The whole run back, she’d thought about how stupid it had been to just run off like that: She hadn’t left a note, so if Dean had woken up he might have thought something had happened to her, or she’d just run away.  And she had no cell phone she could call him on, or that he could use to track her if something had actually gotten hold of her outside.  </p><p><br/> She shifted back into a dog as soon as the door was properly locked behind her, and ran down the staircase to the war room.  No one was running around screaming, which was a good sign: Her paws slipped on the tile floor as she hurried down to Dean’s room.  Thankfully, he was still asleep (she probably had whiskey to thank for that).  Ash hopped onto the bed and curled up against his back: Now that the adrenaline from the run was wearing off, she might be able to get a few more hours’ sleep in before the boys started the day.  She closed her eyes and snuggled into her human’s warmth.  Everything was going to be okay now: The silver poisoning had worn off, and she could defend herself (and the humans) again.  Now, all she had to do was stop the next apocalypse—right.  No problem.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean opened his eyes and glared at the clock.  Why was he awake at 6:00 am?  Now that he was awake, could he go back to sleep?  Probably not, he decided: Sammy would be back from his morning run soon, and Dean liked to have breakfast going when he got back, teasing his brother with the mouthwatering scent of bacon or sausage, hoping to tempt him back from the evils of kale shakes.  And one of these days, he would break.  Man cannot live on rabbit food forever, Dean knew; this ‘health food’ kick of Sam’s was just a phase.  </p><p><br/> He sat up and felt the loss of warmth from Ash; she yawned and stretched beside him, and it took his sleep-addled brain a few moments to process that something was different.  </p><p><br/> “Hey, you’re all better,” he managed at last.  He scratched the top of her head and yawned.  “Good for you.”  </p><p><br/> Dean’s ankle was doing better, too, since he hadn’t been running after monsters in the last couple days, but it was still painful first thing in the morning.  He set his foot delicately on the floor and lurched over to the bathroom, securing his ankle in a brace once he was dressed.  Ash followed him to the kitchen and ‘helped’ cook, as usual, by eating anything he dropped on the floor.  Sam returned only minutes later, and was happy to see Ash had recovered.  </p><p><br/> “We need to get out of here,” Dean said, crunching his bacon as loud as possible just to annoy Sam.  “Ash is feeling better, I can walk, and your hand…Well, it’s just a hand.  You’ll be fine as long as we don’t get into a fight with anything.”</p><p><br/> “So not a case?”</p><p><br/> “No, not yet.  I was thinking more along the lines of a bar and—”  He paused and looked at his brother curiously.  “What do people do for fun besides drinking?  Normal people, I mean?”</p><p><br/> Sam gave Dean a blank look.  “Um.  Movies?  Plays?  Skiing, reading…”</p><p><br/> Dean leaned back in his chair.  “Ugh.  It must be so boring to be normal.  You have to make your own entertainment.”</p><p><br/> “Sometimes boring is nice,” Sam shot back.</p><p><br/> “Well, it’s been ‘boring’ for days, and I’m sick of it.  Tonight, we’re going to that karaoke bar.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s expression dropped at the mention of karaoke.  “Is that the best—”</p><p><br/> “I haven’t done it since I was a demon, Sammy.  And yeah, I know I was a dick then, but I still like it.  Just let me have this one normal-person thing.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed.  “Fine.  Karaoke.”</p><p><br/> Ash’s ears shot up.  Crowley had reminisced about Dean’s demon days, and even shown her videos of him being heckled as he sang badly in front of a crowd.  This would be interesting.  </p><p><br/> “Hold on,” Sam said, checking his phone for the bar’s location, “Today’s Valentine’s Day.  It’s going to be a mess out there—”</p><p><br/> Dean pulled out his own phone.  “Are you sure?  Ah.  Hell, let’s go anyway.  I’m not sittin’ around here another day.  It’ll be like, uh…Family date night.  Right?”</p><p><br/> Sam folded his arms over his chest.  “Family date night.  Really.  So you’re not going to desert us immediately?  Maybe you should just go out by yourself, like you usually do every year.”</p><p><br/> “What?  No, come on—I’m not leaving Ash here,” he said, tossing her a piece of bacon.</p><p> <br/> “Dean,” his brother said sternly.  “You always say it’s your ‘obligation,’ or something, to find as many single women to hook up with as possible—”</p><p><br/> “I’m providing an important service,” Dean cut him off.  “It’s very hard for single ladies on Valentine’s Day.  Society’s told them they’re worthless and unlovable; I give them hope, build up their self-esteem.”</p><p><br/> Ash rolled her eyes, a real accomplishment for a dog.  She felt a twinge of jealousy thinking of Dean going home with another woman, and her mood soured.  </p><p><br/> “Don’t think I’ll do that this year,” Dean continued, inspecting a burnt piece of bacon, then tossing it to Ash.  “I’m getting too old for that kind of thing; a few more years and &lt;they’ll&gt; be the ones boosting &lt;my&gt; self-esteem.”  He winked at her, and she cursed herself for melting at his stupid human charms.  “Besides, I’d rather hang out with Ash and make a fool out of myself.”</p><p><br/> Sam leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the side of his smoothie cup.  Dean turning down what was basically &lt;guaranteed&gt; sex was a new one; either he was more depressed than he let on, or he really did have it bad for the Nephilim.  “You want to go to a bar.  Full of single, depressed, vulnerable, attractive young women.  And deliberately &lt;not&gt; hook up with them?”</p><p><br/> Dean’s eye twitched.  Ash could have sworn she heard him whimper.  “Well, when you put it like that it sounds like there’s something wrong with me,” he whined.  “You make me sound like…You.”</p><p><br/> “Hah.  Funny.”  Sam glanced over at the dog, remembering how jealous she’d been last time Dean had spent the night with another woman.  “If we go out tonight,” he said to Dean, “You have to promise you’re not just going to abandon Ash the second someone catches your eye.  If we’re bringing her out, you need to actually pay attention to her.”</p><p><br/> Dean frowned at his brother.  “Of course I’m not going to ‘abandon’ her!”</p><p><br/> “You do it to me all the time.”</p><p><br/> “That’s different.  You’re my brother.”</p><p><br/> “Ah.  Right.  Of course.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> And so Ash found herself at her very first karaoke bar.  There weren’t many restaurants in Lebanon, so it was very popular this evening.  Judging by the way the couples around them acted, most of the people here were in the early stages of dating, or on their very first date; those in serious relationships would no doubt be at one of the two ‘actual’ restaurants in town, one Italian and one Greek.  The people here were overly flirty and animated with each other: Men arched their backs slightly so their chests puffed up, and flexed their muscles whenever they moved their arms.  Women laughed too loudly at things that weren’t that funny, and angled themselves so that low-cut shirts exposed as much cleavage as possible.  They spent more time trying to impress each other than staring down at their phones, like established couples would.  <br/> Sam, Dean, and Ash sat down at the bar alongside a slew of single people determined to drink away the one day of the year designed to remind them that they were single.  Most of the bar’s other residents were middle-aged men, who’d evidently had the same thought as Dean years ago but lacked Dean’s physique and presence to actually attract young, single, attractive and heartbroken women.  Looking around the room, Ash spotted a few large tables made up of just women.  </p><p><br/> Dean ordered himself a beer and a shot of whiskey, then spun around to see what Ash was looking at.  “Classic Valentine’s Day bar chicks,” he explained.  “Look at the girl in the black sweater: See how they’re all sort of looking to her?  That girl beside her is rubbing her back, and the one with the blue hair just shoved another drink in front of her.  Means she just broke up with her boyfriend, and/or found out he’s cheating on her, then broke up with him.  It’s Valentine’s Day, so everything around her is making her feel like shit for being single; so her friends team up and take her out, try to show her she doesn’t need a man to be happy.  They’ll spend the whole night telling her how awesome she is and putting men down, saying we’re the scum of the earth, yada yada.  Now, normally a guy would steer clear of that mess—it’s a dead end.  The other girls aren’t going to abandon their friend who just got dumped, and the dumped friend doesn’t want anything to do with guys now.  But, there is a way to break down the defensive walls and get into their inner circle.  It’s a bit—”</p><p><br/> “Dean,” Sam snapped from Ash’s other side.  “I thought we agreed, no picking up other women.” </p><p><br/> “I was just explaining how it works.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes narrowed.  </p><p><br/> “You know,” Dean said to Ash, a mischievous grin on his face, “What we &lt;should&gt; be doing is getting &lt;Sam&gt; hooked up with someone.”</p><p><br/> “What?” Sam hissed.</p><p><br/> Dean leaned back against the bar and downed his shot.  “Come on, Sammy—how long’s it been?  And now your right hand’s out of commission, you must have a hard time even—”</p><p><br/> “Dean!”</p><p><br/> He smirked and shrugged.  “Just sayin’.  I’ll be your wingman tonight: Pick your poison.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes flicked from Dean to the room as a whole and back to Dean, like he was seriously considering the offer.  Dean attempted to give his brother puppy dog eyes, but Sam was the one who could pull that off.  </p><p><br/> “Then &lt;I’d&gt; be abandoning Ash,” Sam said, working through a list of arguments in his head.  </p><p><br/> “But I’ll have my eye on her all night,” Dean countered.  “Won’t let her out of my sight after that Fever asshole.”</p><p><br/> “Februus,” Ash corrected.</p><p><br/> “Right.  Phoebus.  I’m gonna teach her the fine art of karaoke.”</p><p><br/> Ash paled.  “I don’t really know any songs—”</p><p><br/> “That’s never stopped me before,” Dean chuckled.  “I bet you know more than you think you do, just from being around people.  There’s a screen that tells you the lyrics as they come up, so you don’t even need to know the words.”</p><p> “How…” Sam started.  “How would I get home, though?  I can’t exactly Uber back to the bunker.”</p><p><br/> “So Uber to the gas station at the end of the road.  You can walk from there, or I’ll come pick you up.”</p><p><br/> The bartender appeared in front of them and they paused to order food, then went back to bickering back and forth.  Ash felt like a short fence that two neighbors had to shout over to be heard.  </p><p><br/> “Alright, fine,” Dean said at last.  “I won’t say anything to them.  But if one of those girls comes up here, you better take that opportunity—”</p><p><br/> “Yes, fine,” Sam sighed, resigned to having his big brother meddling in his life.  </p><p><br/> Ash twisted back around in her seat to look out at the rest of the room.  It was interesting watching how the other humans interacted with each other: Seeing people on dates was new to her.  She’d seen the very beginning and very end of dates, living with single men and women, but never the middle when they were actually out and about.  She’d never seen the bit that decided whether the rest of the night ended in a one-night stand or a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, and it was sort of fascinating.</p><p><br/> A woman with dyed blond hair was extremely touchy, constantly placing her hand on her man’s forearm or shoulder when she spoke.  Another woman, wearing spiked heels, slid her foot all the way up her date’s leg until it was almost at his crotch.  The man continued talking as if everything was normal, but his neck reddened and he lost track of his thought in the middle of a sentence.  </p><p><br/> Men tended to lean back, playing it cool, whereas women would lean forward, showing their interest as well as their cleavage.  One date didn’t look like it was going well: Both parties had their phones out, and Ash could just make out the Tinder app from where she sat.  They were actively searching for more compatible dates, &lt;on their date&gt;.  A more successful couple, farther away from her, was having a much better time, feeding each other oysters as sensually as possible.  </p><p><br/> “Those are oysters,” Ash pointed out.  “In Kansas.”</p><p><br/> “It’s fine,” Sam said.  “This place is actually known for sushi and seafood—gets hauled up on ice.  Only had one case of food poisoning in the three years it’s been open, but it was really just someone getting hexed after eating here.  Owner spent years studying under sushi chefs in Japan—don’t ask me how he ended up here, but he makes it work.”</p><p><br/> Ash watched as the man downed one of the slimy little mollusks down his throat, and cringed.  “Ugh.  I know I eat some weird shit as a dog and whatnot, but I don’t think that’s food.”</p><p><br/> “Oysters?  Sure they are.  You see ‘em a lot on Valentine’s because they’re supposed to be an aphrodisiac,” Dean said.  “I can’t eat ‘em anymore, not since the clam incident.”  He shuddered involuntarily.</p><p><br/> “Two questions,” Ash said.</p><p><br/> “An aphrodisiac is something that’s supposed to, you know, get you in the ‘mood.’  Turn you on,” Sam explained.</p><p><br/> “It has the texture and flavor of snot,” Ash replied, who’d eaten one accidentally after a child had spat it onto the floor at her owner’s party.  </p><p><br/> Sam snorted.  “Yeah.  Kinda does.”</p><p><br/> “So what happened with clams?  Were you on a case?”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “Just got done with one.  We were in North Carolina on the coast, and there was a clam shack, and so I thought: Why not?  But I ate too many, and they may not have been cooked properly…”</p><p><br/> “Spewed all over Baby,” Sam laughed.  “We were cleaning clam chunks out of the car for &lt;weeks&gt;.  And the smell—that lasted for &lt;months&gt;.  It was summer, too, so it really heated up and got…Fragrant.”</p><p><br/> “Can’t even look at a clam now,” Dean muttered.  “Tried to eat an oyster a few years after that, but it was too much like the clams.  It came up the second it went down.”<br/> Ash caught sight of a slightly older man in a blue blazer staring back at her.  When she made eye contact with him, he looked away quickly.  Continuing to scan the tables, she snuck a look back at him every now and then, and every time she looked he was looking back at her, but averted his gaze the second she caught him.  She focused her senses and really &lt;looked&gt; at him as his eyes roved politely elsewhere.  Something about him seemed off—inhuman.  He was seated by himself, she realized, and he had a fruity drink with an umbrella in it but no food.  As she narrowed her gaze, she could just make out the shadow of his wings.  </p><p><br/> “Guys,” she said, turning back around in her seat.  “There’s a man in a blue blazer in the back-left corner when you turn around.  He’s been kind of focusing on me, I think.  And I think he’s an angel.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10: Come What May</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's still Valentine's Day!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean’s hand immediately went to his angel blade.  Sam would be useless with his left hand, so it was up to him to deal with any problems.   “It might be nothing, I just thought you should know—”</p>
<p><br/> “Watch her, Sam,” Dean ordered, sliding off his barstool.  </p>
<p><br/> Oh crap, thought Ash.</p>
<p><br/> She and Sam watched out of the corners of their eyes as Dean approached the non-human, squeezing into a seat across from him at the tiny table.  Dean looked all smiles as he spoke, aware of all the people around them, but his eyes were cold.  He slapped his hand palm-down on the table, and Ash knew he was explaining that he had the angel blade underneath and wasn’t above pulling it out in a crowded bar if need be.  The other man looked frightened, then burst into tears, and suddenly Dean was using his unarmed hand to pat him soothingly on his back.  He spoke to Dean for a while longer, until finally Dean gestured up to the bar and the man nodded.  He followed Dean back to them like a sad puppy.  </p>
<p><br/> “It’s okay,” Dean said, sitting back down.  “Well, for the moment.”  He shot the man a meaningful look.  “This is Tim; he’s a cupid.”</p>
<p><br/> “Cherub,” chirped the man in the blue blazer.  His eyes had dried and he now sported a nervous smile, eyes constantly drawn to Ash.  “This is sort of our holiday, as you know, so I like to make a personal appearance to check up on things.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash went completely rigid.  “So you &lt;are&gt; an angel.”  Cherubs were a lesser type of angel.  She’d been warned to avoid angels, as they might try to kill her and/or abduct her, and they would not show the level of restraint that Februus had.  </p>
<p><br/> The cherub’s eyes widened at her expression.  “Please don’t smite me!” he squeaked, cringing back but still maintaining his smile.  “I—I wasn’t going to tell anyone about you, I was just curious!  I’m just here for the humans!”</p>
<p><br/> &lt;One thought on angel radio, and suddenly all of Heaven knows I’m here.&gt;  “You know what I am.  Just from looking at me.”</p>
<p><br/> Tim bobbed his head.  “I could hardly mistake you as anything else.  You have this…Energy about you.  I’ve only met a Nephilim once before—angels usually kill them soon as they’re born, if not before—but you’ve got something extra, haven’t you?  You’re more than just an angel and a human smooshed together.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash rolled her shoulders.  If she had to get away, she would have to shift.  Using her other powers could hurt the humans around her, and she couldn’t risk getting one of them killed because of her.  </p>
<p><br/> “The angels have been talking about you a lot since the Leviathans were banished to Purgatory.  They say you’re not just half-angel, but half-demon.  And that you’re valuable but dangerous.”  He held his hands up placatingly.  “I won’t utter a word, I promise.  I’m not getting involved in a war—keep my head down, do my job, that’s all I want.”  He cocked his head to the side and gave her a peculiar look, and Ash felt like he was looking through her rather than at her.  “Hard to believe a half-demon could have a soul as beautiful as yours,” he said at last.  “I’ve never met a human being with half the love in his heart that you have in you.”  His eyes started to mist over as he continued to stare.  “They said you’re going to help Lucifer destroy Heaven and Earth.  But I don’t think that’s what you want in your soul.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash leaned back, uncomfortable under his sudden scrutiny.  “How do ‘they’ know about—"</p>
<p><br/> “The prophecy.  Well, not a &lt;real&gt; prophecy—it wasn’t made by a Prophet—but they say it’s Nice and Accurate all the same—"</p>
<p><br/> “Do you know what else is in the prophecy?” Ash asked.  </p>
<p><br/> “Oh Heaven, no!  I’m nobody important!  Though they hope you won’t destroy anything, and that you’ll be able to grow more angels.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam’s jaw dropped.  “Grow angels.”</p>
<p><br/> “What the hell’s wrong with the ones you’ve already got?” Dean growled.</p>
<p><br/> “Well there’s just not enough anymore,” Tim explained.  “With the apocalypse and all the fighting, including Castiel killing several thousand of them, it’s hard to keep Heaven going anymore, not to mention all the other things we need angels to do.”  When the boys looked at him blankly, he sighed and continued: “Angels are like Heaven’s batteries.  They keep the lights on, keep each soul’s individual Heaven running like it should.  Take away all the angels, and Heaven falls.  Billions upon billions of souls entrusted into the angels’ care will be homeless, doomed to roam the earth like ghosts.”</p>
<p><br/> “So they make more,” Sam said.  “It can’t be that hard, can it?”</p>
<p><br/> “God made the angels,” Tim said, shaking his head.  “He’s the only one who knows how.  He may be the only one with the power to make them.  But something in that prophecy has the angels thinking that she might be able to, too.  And so they search for you.”  As Dean raised his blade-hand menacingly, Tim added quickly: “But I won’t say a word!  Nope, just going to get back to work, that’s me!”</p>
<p><br/> He scurried away before Dean could grab him, and in a moment he’d vanished entirely.</p>
<p> <br/> “Damn it.”</p>
<p><br/> “He’s not going to send an angel army after her,” Sam said.  “Heck, he’s low enough on the chain of command, I doubt he can even contact whoever’s in charge now.”<br/> Dean settled back onto his stool, the angel blade still up his sleeve.  He tried to relax, but couldn’t help picturing half a dozen angels bursting through the door, ready to smite everyone in their path.  At least, he thought, they wouldn’t kill Ash outright if they thought she could be useful.  </p>
<p><br/> A waiter brought their plates, and all three reluctantly shifted their attention away from danger to focus on eating.  </p>
<p><br/> “So he goes around shooting people so they’ll fall in love?” Ash asked, trying to keep off the subject of imminent angelic doom.  “Seems like kind of a dick thing to do.  What if they don’t &lt;want&gt; to fall in love with that person?  What if they like someone else?”</p>
<p><br/> “I think the idea is, once he’s shot you it won’t matter who you used to like,” Sam said.  He went to take a bite of salad but snapped his head around as the door opened and almost stabbed himself in the ear with his fork.  A completely ordinary family entered, paying no attention to Ash.  He relaxed.</p>
<p><br/> “Do they shoot everybody that’s together?”</p>
<p><br/> “No, just people that’re important to what they see as the ‘big picture.’  Like, if they know someone’s going to cure cancer, for example, that’s important; so they make sure his parents meet up, and they’d have to make sure their parents meet up, and so on…”</p>
<p><br/> “But someone will do that eventually anyway.  What about free will?  Making your own choices?  I thought that was the whole point of humanity.”</p>
<p><br/> “Ah, but not the point of angels.  Cas is a bit of an outlaw, in a way, since he didn’t want to be a mindless drone anymore.  I think they want us to be more like them: Mindless little drones that do as we’re told and don’t ask questions.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash nodded.  “Crowley says they’re bigger assholes than demons.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam paused to chew on some lettuce.  Though it made him physically ill to agree with the King of Hell, he wasn’t wrong.  “I can see how it would look that way to him,” he said at last, determined to find a diplomatic answer that didn’t involve either outright lying or siding with Crowley.</p>
<p><br/> A glass shattered on the floor behind them, and all three of them jumped in their seats.  Dean huffed in annoyance when he saw there was no threat, and spun back around to continue eating.  He needed more alcohol if he was going to be dealing with cherubs, but he needed to stay sober if there was a chance of angels attacking.  He signaled the bartender for another shot, figuring he had a ways to go before he could be considered truly inebriated.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash spotted Tim again: The cherub had reappeared in an empty booth and was eyeing a bored-looking couple like a veteran hunter.  He raised his hands and barely twitched his wrist: Nothing seemed to happen at first, but after staring at them for a moment Ash saw the woman’s eyes widen and her cheeks blush furiously.  The man began to fidget nervously with his hands, ducking his eyes down and blushing as well.  So that was all there was to it?  Shoot them with a little cherub power and send a date from ho-hum to seeing fireworks?  She wanted to march over to him and ask him what was so important about these people that they weren’t allowed to have free will, but she knew Dean would have a fit if she talked to him again.  </p>
<p><br/> Instead, she focused her attention on the group Dean had pointed out earlier.  The broken-up girl had teary, red-rimmed eyes, but she was smiling now, listening to one of her friends.  The friend was gesturing wildly with her arms, and though Ash couldn’t hear the story she recognized a few words by reading her lips: ‘dickhead’ stood out, as did ‘asshat’ and ‘son of a bitch.’  She must be talking about how evil men are, she decided, by reciting a specific tale of sadism.  The other women at the table were nodding along with her, and she even heard a shouted “Amen!”    </p>
<p><br/> The girl in the black sweater got up and headed toward the bathroom, flanked by three of her friends.  An idea formed in Ash’s head, a silly, stupid idea, and she slid off her stool to follow them.</p>
<p><br/> “Hey,” Dean said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “You’re not leaving my sight, remember?”</p>
<p><br/> Ash sighed.  “I’m just going to the bathroom.  If the angels come for me, they’re not going to start there.”</p>
<p><br/> He released her reluctantly. “Famous last words,” he grumbled.  “Anything happens, you don’t worry about me and Sam, alright?  You just get your ass out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/> <br/> Ash cornered her prey in front of the sinks.  The young woman was splashing water on her face and staring at her reflection, trying to erase the puffy redness around her eyes and nose.  Her friends fussed behind her, telling her she looked fine.</p>
<p><br/> “You okay?” Ash asked.</p>
<p><br/> “Yeah, I just…”  She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders.  </p>
<p><br/> “She just broke up with her boyfriend,” her blue-haired friend supplied.  “They’d been going out almost three years.”</p>
<p><br/> “But he was a lying, cheating scumbag,” her blonde friend added.  “They were supposed to go to Vegas today for a long, romantic weekend, but while she was grabbing the confirmation code for their hotel on his phone, he got all these texts from someone named ‘Jennifer.’”</p>
<p><br/> “Jennifer has fake tits,” Blue Hair said, rubbing her friend’s back.  “There are a lot of pictures of them on B—uh, He Who Shall Not Be Named’s phone.”</p>
<p><br/> The blonde leaned in closer to Ash and said quietly, “Also a lot of dick pics—of other guys’ dicks.  Seems the Asshat swings both ways.”</p>
<p><br/> Black Sweater burst into tears again, and Ash cringed inwardly.  She was just making things worse at this point.  “He swore he never slept with a man while we were dating, but…Some of the texts he got…”  She shook her head.  “I’m going to have to get tested.”</p>
<p><br/> “We’ll be right there with you,” Blue hair said firmly.  “You’re going to do fine.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash handed her a tissue and she blew her nose loudly.  </p>
<p><br/> “You’re sitting with those older guys up at the bar, aren’t you?” Black Sweater asked.  </p>
<p><br/> They’re not that much older than you, Ash thought.  She nodded.  </p>
<p><br/> “Pretty cute,” Blondie smiled.  “Are they single?”</p>
<p><br/> Black Sweater jabbed her friend in the ribs.  </p>
<p><br/> “What?”</p>
<p><br/> “You have a boyfriend!”</p>
<p><br/> She shrugged.  “I can still look.”</p>
<p><br/> Blue hair shook her head.  “Didn’t you see the way the shorter one looked at her?  They’re obviously together.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash felt her entire body turn pink and her face flushed uncomfortably.  She opened her mouth to correct her, but thought about the mission at hand and thought better of it.  Blue Hair’s smile widened.  </p>
<p><br/> “See?  She’s crazy about him.  Can’t even talk.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash wondered if it was possible to actually die of embarrassment.  </p>
<p><br/> “So what about the other guy?” Black Sweater asked, patting her face with a damp paper towel.</p>
<p> <br/> “Oh, that’s his brother,” Ash supplied, recovering quickly.  “He, uh, he’s had a rough couple of years since his girlfriend died—never really got over her.”  Crowley had given her a brief history of Azazel vs. The Winchesters, and she was pretty sure what she was saying wasn’t exactly a lie.  “He doesn’t really do much outside of work,” also true, “so we thought we’d bring him out with us, try to get him out of his shell.”  That bit was a lie, but it felt like the right thing to say.  </p>
<p><br/> “She died?”</p>
<p><br/> Ash nodded.  “He really loved her.  Still blames himself for what happened, but it wasn’t his fault.”</p>
<p><br/> “Car crash?”</p>
<p><br/> “Murder.  But like I said, not his fault.  She…Died in front of him.”  She wasn’t sure if she was adding too many details, but she wanted to sell it.  She looked at the girls’ expressions, and realized she may have overdone it.  “Anyway,” she said, smoothing her hair back, “Dean—my…Boyfriend—has been trying to break him out of his shell for a while now.  Maybe you guys could convince him to loosen up a little?  There’s no way he’ll do karaoke with us, but if you can at least get him talking, it’ll be something.”</p>
<p><br/> The three ladies looked excited at the prospect of doing something other than mope about Black Sweater’s cheating douche of an ex.</p>
<p> <br/> “Oh, we’ll get him talking,” Blue Hair grinned, dabbing at Black Sweater’s tear-smudged makeup for her.  “When you guys get up to sing, we’ll go say hi.  You enjoy your boyfriend.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash smiled and nodded her head gratefully.  “Thanks.  You enjoy…Not being stuck with an asshole.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Dean was visibly relieved when Ash sat back down next to him.  </p>
<p><br/> “Sorry; girl talk,” Ash explained.  </p>
<p><br/> “Girl talk?” </p>
<p><br/> “Just, uh…If anybody asks, we’re dating and Sam’s having a hard time getting over his dead girlfriend.”</p>
<p><br/> Dean choked on his beer; Sam dropped his fork on the floor.  “Say again?”</p>
<p><br/> Ash suddenly found the counter top fascinating.  She picked at a knot in the wood.  “Just trying to keep things interesting.  Some of the girls might stop by later to meet you,” she said, glancing over at Sam.  “Don’t care if you flirt with them or not, but I thought you could use a little social interaction after being cooped up for so long…”</p>
<p><br/> Sam leaned back against the counter and sighed, glaring at Dean.  “I don’t believe it.  You’ve actually worn off on her.  It was bad enough when it was just you meddling with my life, but now you’ve got her doing it, too!  You guys can’t team up against me!”</p>
<p><br/> “I didn’t tell her to do anything,” Dean protested, though the smug look on his face showed how pleased he really was.  </p>
<p><br/> “You didn’t have to!  She’s your freakin’ dog now, and she’s…She’s…Anticipating your orders like a freakin’ soldier.  You’re her Crowley now.”</p>
<p><br/> Dean’s facial expression flickered between a smile and frown, giving the impression he was having a momentary seizure.  He was incredibly proud and flattered, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being compared to Crowley.</p>
<p><br/> “Crowley is still my Crowley,” Ash growled.  “I only listen to you because he told me to.”</p>
<p><br/> “I meant…Metaphorically,” Sam said, aware he’d touched on a sensitive subject for her.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean deflated slightly.  He’d almost forgotten about her allegiance to him.  Still, it was somehow refreshing to know that in whatever weird dog-obedience-hierarchy she had, he was still above Sam.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Tonight was evidently a special “couples’ karaoke night” in honor of Valentine’s Day, though the waitress running the sound system clarified this to mean “any two people” in deference to the bar’s single patrons.  Two of the girls from Black Sweater’s group got up to sing “A Whole New World,” which prompted ladies from another ‘singles’ group to follow with Frozen’s “Love is an Open Door.”  While an older couple sang a duet Ash hadn’t heard before, Dean motioned for Ash to line up with him.  </p>
<p><br/> “I told you I don’t know any songs,” Ash grumbled, looking nervously out at the crowded restaurant.  </p>
<p><br/> “You know Moulin Rouge.  I bet they have all those songs in the system.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash sighed in resignation.  It couldn’t be that bad, singing in front of a bunch of strangers?  Surely it was better than singing in front of a bunch of people you knew?  She caught sight of the cherub Tim: He was sitting with an older couple, smiling away at them and sipping his fruity umbrellaed drink.  Frigging meddling angels.  To his credit, though, an army of angels hadn’t blasted through the bar to get to her; maybe he wasn’t so bad.  </p>
<p><br/> It was strange hearing her voice instead of Nicole Kidman’s, but after she got through the first few lines her nerves started to melt: She forgot about all the other humans and actually let herself have fun.  Dean got really into it, too, which helped immensely.  She stopped looking at the prompter and just watched him: This was the happiest and most relaxed she’d ever seen him.  For once, at least for this particular minute, there were no monsters to kill or apocalypse to avert, and he had just enough alcohol in his system to hold back all the negative thoughts and memories that constantly haunted him.  </p>
<p><br/> “Love lifts us up where we belong, where eagles fly on a mountain high,” Dean sang at the top of his lungs.</p>
<p><br/> Ash was laughing as she replied, not nearly as flamboyantly, “Love makes us act like we are fools; throw our lives away for one happy day.”</p>
<p><br/> “WE COULD BE HEROES.  Just for one day…”</p>
<p><br/> She nearly fell over laughing, but managed to keep going with her part.  She was smiling so hard, her cheeks ached by the time the song ended and they stumbled off the little stage.  There was a smattering of applause, and then two happily intoxicated guys got up to sing “If you were gay” from Avenue Q.  </p>
<p><br/>Dean squeezed Ash’s shoulder.  “See?  Not so bad, right?”  He turned to go back to Sam, and stopped: Black Sweater and Blue Hair were sitting in the seats he and Ash previously occupied.  “Let’s find another place to sit for a second.”  </p>
<p><br/> They found a vacant high-top and sat down; Dean flagged down a waitress to rescue their drinks from the bar, and tried to explain Avenue Q to a person who’d never seen The Muppets or Sesame Street.  Eventually, he resorted to showing her YouTube clips on his phone, but she still looked politely confused, much like whenever he explained stuff to Cas.  </p>
<p><br/> Two girls, one sober and one very intoxicated, got up next: They sang a slightly out of tune version of Vanessa Carleton’s “A Thousand Miles,” including singing the “do-do-do-dodododoo” bits aloud.  Ash kept glancing at Sam and his new friends, hoping he wasn’t too cross with her for nudging them in his direction.  She looked back at the stage when another song started: A young couple, barely old enough to drink, stood awkwardly in front of the microphones.  The girl looked nervous but excited, while the guy looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.  She glared at him and nudged him until he straightened up and smiled at her, and started to sing.</p>
<p><br/> “He looks thrilled,” Ash said sarcastically.</p>
<p><br/> Dean listened for a moment.  “Oh.  It’s that song from Twilight, that’s why.  She must’ve badgered him into it.”</p>
<p><br/> “That’s the vampire movie?”  She’d heard demons talking about that one; apparently, they’d been behind much of its production.  </p>
<p><br/> “Really awful.  You don’t even have to see it to know it’s bad.  Apparently the vamps in it sparkle.  Story is about this 200-year old vamp that goes to a high school, because why the hell not, and falls in love with this teenage girl who’s super boring but of course he thinks she’s the greatest fucking thing since blood banks.  At some point a werewolf falls in love with her too, but of course the werewolves and vampires are mortal enemies so there’s some stupid drama about it.  I don’t know how she meets the werewolf, if he goes to her school too or if he’s just some creeper that wants to bang humans for some reason.  Anyway, that’s where this song is from.”</p>
<p><br/> “It’s a bit like Romeo and Juliet, except everyone’s all angsty and you rather wish they’d just kill themselves and be done with it already,” Tim’s voice said from about six inches away.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean’s hand twitched but he managed to restrain himself from stabbing the cherub in the throat.  “What the hell, man?  You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”</p>
<p><br/> Tim seemed not to hear him; he grabbed a spare stool and sat down at the table.  He took a long sip from a colorful cocktail with multiple umbrellas sticking out the top.  “This place is charming, isn’t it?  I love this whole singing bit—karaoke, right?  So much fun!”</p>
<p><br/> Ash tensed at his proximity.  It just wasn’t natural to be that cheerful—especially not for an angel.  “Shouldn’t you be off shooting people without their knowledge?”</p>
<p><br/> He looked hurt.  “I make people happy, you know.  I give them love.”  His eyes narrowed and he puffed his chest out.  “We can’t all run around whacking people’s heads off all the time.”</p>
<p><br/> Dean glared back at the cherub.  “We save the damn world.  So, you know, you’re welcome.”</p>
<p><br/> “Oh, you fix what you’ve already broken,” Tim sighed, waving a hand dismissively.  “You stopped the apocalypse after you started it; you fought the Darkness because You let her out.  And you sent the Leviathans back to Purgatory after your angel set them free.”</p>
<p><br/> Dean flicked his wrist and the hilt of the angel blade slid into his hand.  “Alright--listen up, Feathers: I don’t know what kind of angel propaganda they’ve been feeding you, but—”</p>
<p><br/> “Dean,” Ash said quietly.  She’d moved to stand between him and Tim, one hand on his right arm to stop him from attacking.  “You kill him here, someone’s going to notice.”<br/> His gaze flickered away from Tim to glance around the crowded bar.  She was right—there were too many people.  Even if an army of angels didn’t show right away, the police sure as hell would, and they’d never be able to come back to this place.  Since it was one of the closest watering holes to the bunker, he really couldn’t make that mistake.  He pushed the blade back up his sleeve and swallowed his anger.  </p>
<p><br/> “I didn’t mean any offense,” Tim said.  “I was just trying to illustrate that not all problems can be solved with violence.  Sometimes, the world needs a cherub’s touch.”  He smiled at Ash and patted her on the head.  “Or even a demonic Nephilim’s.”  </p>
<p><br/> Ash grimaced.  She could feel the faint buzz of his grace flowing underneath his skin.  It was much weaker than Castiel’s, but it still felt cold and foreign.  </p>
<p><br/> “Oh!  Just remembered I have an appointment in Chicago in…”  He pulled an old-fashioned pocket-watch out of his pants pocket.  “Two minutes.”  He looked back up at Ash and Dean, beaming away like they were all best friends.  “It was lovely meeting you.  I really do wish you the best with the next apocalyptic event.”  He patted Ash’s hand.  “I know it’ll be your first, but don’t let it intimidate you; you’re working with the pros.  We all thought they were going to muck it up last time, but we’re still standing, aren’t we?  Anyhow, till next time!”</p>
<p><br/> Tim vanished in a familiar flutter of invisible wings.  No one else in the bar seemed to be concerned by this, or to have noticed at all.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean ground his teeth together.  “There better not be a ‘next time.’”</p>
<p><br/> Ash sat down and stared into her lemonade.  “Shouldn’t be aloud to be that happy talking about an apocalypse,” she grumbled.</p>
<p> <br/> “Hah!  Well, he knows he’s not going to be fighting in it.  Knows we’ll take care of it, because nobody else ever does.  Hmph.  They think we’re screw-ups?  Fine.  Let them deal with this shit.  You notice a distinct lack of angels when we were taking care of that fucking Dick Roman?  Aside from Cas, I mean.  Cas is different.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash shivered, shaking off the feeling of the cherub’s grace.  He acted harmless enough, and he probably couldn’t have smote anyone, but there was a certain amount of power he carried with him.  </p>
<p><br/> The sound of Sam’s laughter carried across the bar, and Dean and Ash looked over at him in surprise.  When was the last time he’d laughed?  Dean felt his anger at the cherub melt away, replaced by a lightness he didn’t get very often.  Sam was happy, no one was dying: This night wasn’t so bad after all.  </p>
<p><br/> He turned back to Ash.  “Hey—want to do another song?”</p>
<p><br/> Ash’s face lit up as she nodded, and the lightness rose into his chest and tingled.  They weaved their way through the tables back to the sound station and Dean requested another Moulin Rouge song, knowing Ash would like it.  </p>
<p><br/> “This is the soundtrack version, not what they sing in the movie,” he warned.</p>
<p><br/> “Fine.  Had a human who listened to it on repeat back when the CD came out.”  Crowley wasn’t the only one she’d known with a closet appreciation for drama-romance musicals.  </p>
<p><br/> A group of four girls stepped off the ‘stage’ after singing “Without Love” from Hairspray.  They had somehow all managed to hit separate notes half the time, forcing the restaurant’s patrons to collectively rub their ears when the song finally ended.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean took to the stage, followed by Ash, and they stood in front of their respective mikes.  Ash looked at him nervously as the music started; Dean smiled and winked back at her.  </p>
<p><br/> Ewan McGregor’s part was first: “Never knew I could feel like this.  Like I’ve never seen the sky before.  Want to vanish inside your kiss, and every day I love you more and more…”</p>
<p><br/> A warm tingle spread up her spine and forward into her chest as she listened to him sing.  She’d always loved this song, and she loved Dean’s voice.  He wasn’t the greatest singer in the world, but he didn’t have to be.  When he looked at her, she felt her chest tighten and her breath catch in her throat.  What the hell was wrong with her?  Had that damn cherub done something to her?</p>
<p><br/> Her part came up at last, and she managed to compose herself, looking anywhere but right at him: “Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place; suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace.  Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste; it all revolves around you.”</p>
<p><br/> As they both started to sing the next part, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and nearly fell off the stage: She could see his soul.   “And there’s no mountain too high, no river too wide; sing out this song and I’ll be there by your side.  Storm clouds may gather and storms may collide, but I love you until the end of time.”</p>
<p><br/> It surrounded him like an aura but was inside him as well, gold flames that shifted with every thought and breath.  It gave off a warmth: Not as hot as a demon, which was like standing inside a furnace, but cozy and comfortable, like sitting in front of a fireplace.  </p>
<p><br/> “Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day…”</p>
<p><br/> As the chorus repeated and crescendoed up into the finale, Ash realized she wasn’t singing to a room full of people anymore.  All she could see, all that mattered in this moment, was that she was with her human.  Beneath the blazing light of his soul, she could see his eyes smiling at her, and she couldn’t look away.  Every alarm in her head was going off that this was not right, that what she was feeling right now was, in fact, very wrong, but maybe &lt;just in this moment&gt; it would be okay to feel things toward him she shouldn’t.  Because it was one thing to love someone with the unbreakable, loyal, faithful love of a dog, but quite another to feel this…This &lt;longing,&gt; pining-after love.  She’d done a bang-up job suppressing it thus far, because there were a hundred reasons why feelings of that sort were a bad idea (he was a hunter; she wasn’t his type; he’d never reciprocate her feelings and she’d just be miserable pining after him all the time; even if he somehow did like her, she wasn’t allowed to have a relationship anyway).  But standing here next to him, she had butterflies in her stomach and her chest felt too constricting around her rapidly beating heart.  &lt;Snap out of it, Ash.  You have a job to do.  There are Rules.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> Out in the audience, so to speak, Sam watched his brother with trepidation.  He was looking at Ash as if she were Baby, pie, and beer all rolled into one form, and that couldn’t be good.  Hadn’t they decided, back when they’d first met Ash, that she was off-limits?  And then Crowley had told them the same thing; and while he may be a total bastard, even Castiel agreed with him on this.  The look in Dean’s eyes now was not saying “off-limits” to Sam.  </p>
<p><br/> Sam lost his train of thought as his brain flooded with endorphins.  Unbidden, thoughts of his parents popped into his head, and how they’d loved him and tried to keep him out of the deadly world of hunters.  He thought of Jess, one of the only women he’d truly loved; he thought about his ‘extended family,’ all the people who were far away or even dead—Bobby, Kevin, Jody and the girls, Garth, Charlie…He had a vague awareness of the physical world around him, and for a moment the warm fuzzy feeling inside him dropped away as the song ended and he saw Dean pull Ash toward him and &lt;oh shit he’s going to kiss her&gt; and his vision blurred and went white.  He got up from his seat, squeezing his eyes shut and blinked several times to try to clear them.  A jolt of fear shot through him, though it seemed to come from outside himself.  His vision finally cleared: Dean was standing on the stage, alone, looking perplexed.  Ash was gone.</p>
<p><br/> Dean was frozen in place.  He’d known he was being a colossal idiot, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself: It was like his body had operated independently from his brain and decided &lt;we’re going to kiss her now,&gt; despite all the little warning bells that it was not a good idea.  A little bit of logic that remained in the back of his mind told him she was not human, and she reported to the King of Hell, and that there were Rules that may or may not be a conflict of interest; unfortunately, all of that was overridden when another part of his brain thought: When has kissing &lt;not&gt; worked for us?  &lt;Oh wait there was that demon deal—&gt;</p>
<p><br/> Before he could manage to talk himself out of it, he’d hooked one arm around her waist and pulled her against him.  She had an odd sort of static-y feeling, like he was touching a Van de Graaff generator, but he didn’t give himself time to dwell on that.  He ran his free hand through her hair and she naturally tilted her head back as she pressed into his touch.  Her eyes were glowing blue, like an angel, and one final little alarm went BWOOP BWOOP BWOOP in his mind, but that could go to hell.</p>
<p><br/> Ash leaned in to his touch, all sorts of warnings flashing through her mind that she couldn’t quite hear because she was too focused on him.  She pressed her palms against his chest to stop the wobbly feeling in her legs, and watched his soul flicker around her hands.  Is this what angels saw all the time?  His hand moved down to the back of her neck and she tilted her head back, wanting him to pet her again.  She had only a split second to think &lt;Oh shit is he going to kiss me?  Why the hell would he do that?&gt;  And then his lips were pressed against hers, and her brain short-circuited as a thousand things shot through her brain: Demon deals; Hollywood kisses; her old owners kissing their significant others.  Should she kiss him back?  How did that even work?  Why didn’t people come with manuals?  No wonder Cas had trouble acting human sometimes.  Cas—shit, he’d be cross with her, but not as cross as Crowley—Crowley would literally set her on fire.  At the moment, she was only figuratively on fire: her head tingled, and the feeling spread down the back of her neck and down her spine.  She started to melt into him when her internal alarm went off again, more insistently: &lt;Crowley is going to destroy you.&gt;  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t breaking any Rules; kissing a Winchester (unless a deal was involved) was one of those things that was just Frowned Upon in general.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;I can’t do this,&gt; she thought, beginning to panic.  She started to pull away from him, and vanished.</p>
<p><br/> Dean was at a loss.  For all of three seconds, he had her and was kissing her and everything was unicorns and rainbows, and now she was just…Gone.  Of all the possible ways that could have ended—Ash getting pissed and shoving him away, her getting pissed and blasting him into the wall with her power, Sam getting pissed and punching him in the face—he hadn’t even thought of Ash disappearing entirely.  He’d never seen her port before, but then again there was no reason she shouldn’t be able to.  What was more likely, he thought, was that something else had taken her—an angel, tipped off by that damn cherub maybe, or a demon, though the only demon that could track her was—oh shit.  &lt;Crowley.&gt;  Crowley was going to kill him.  </p>
<p><br/> Everyone around Sam looked like they were coming out of a daze.  He wondered if what he’d experienced—a sudden flood of positive emotions, followed by a sharp stab of fear and momentary loss of vision—had happened to everyone else.  He stood up, pitching forward like a drunk man on a boat before he was able to reestablish his equilibrium.  The people around him were saying things like “sorry, zoned out for a second there,” and “ugh, what were you saying?  I totally spaced out.”  Dean hopped down from the stage and made for the door; Sam followed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/> <br/> Ash’s world tilted unpleasantly.  For a moment, she had the sensation of being a kernel of popcorn in a hot pan.  Her vision flipped rapidly between whiting out and blacking out.  When the world snapped back into focus, she found herself suspended in midair above Baby, still parked around the side of the bar.  She dropped hard, landing with a metallic “thunk” on the car’s trunk, then rolling off and falling to the pavement.  Frozen tar and little bits of ice sliced at her arms, giving her a small case of road rash.<br/> &lt;What the hell?&gt; She thought.</p>
<p><br/> “What.  The.  Hell,” Crowley said, appearing beside her.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;Well, this is where I die,&gt; Ash sighed.  She tried to roll up onto her feet, but her inner ear was having none of it after blipping through space, and all she managed to accomplish was smashing her face into the parking lot.  &lt;Yep.  Definitely where I die.&gt;  She rolled onto her back, wincing as muscles spasmed in protest.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley nudged her with his foot, looking puzzled.  “You’ve been obnoxiously…Emotional,” he growled.  “More than usual, I mean.  So congrats on porting, by the way, but maybe you could stop thinking for one bloody night?  You’re making me…Feel.”  The last word was emphasized with the same level of disgust a human might use while discussing tapeworm removal or uncontrollable diarrhea.  He was not impressed.</p>
<p><br/> Ash tried to sit up again, feeling nauseous.  “Sorry,” she said, her voice so small it was barely audible.  She could practically feel the blood draining from her face.  <br/> “What’s got your fur all ruffled, anyway?”  He crouched down to her level and reached out to touch her forehead; she leaned back, trying to avoid a mind-meld, but there was only so far she could lean before her head connected with the pavement again.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley’s eyes flashed red for a moment as he took in the mess that was Ash’s mind.  He recoiled as if he’d been stung; Ash cringed and tried to scoot away from him, but he latched onto her arm with a steel grip.</p>
<p><br/> His voice started out quiet, which was always a bad sign.  “He kissed you.”  His grip tightened further, becoming painful.  “Squirrel.  Of course; of course it would be the bloody squirrel.  You couldn’t have gone for the one who &lt;hasn’t&gt; been a demon, could you?”</p>
<p><br/> He turned and shot to his feet as the sound of shoes against pavement reached them.  Ash could feel the hate radiating off him as first Dean, then Sam, appeared from around the front of the building.  </p>
<p><br/> “Crowley!” Dean growled.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley didn’t bother with the usual banter.  With an inhuman snarl and a flick of his wrist, he sent Dean flying backward into a parked SUV, denting the doors.  <br/> Sam ran forward, drawing the demon knife, and Dean peeled himself away from the damaged vehicle.  </p>
<p><br/> “Really, Crowley?” Sam chided the demon.  “I thought we’d moved past this kind of thing.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam suddenly found himself frozen in place.  </p>
<p><br/> “And I thought we had an understanding: The kid is off-limits.”  A four-door sedan rose into the air and hurtled toward Dean; he had nowhere to run, so he dropped to the ground, covering his head with his arms.  </p>
<p><br/> Just as he was about to become very well-acquainted with the underside of a Toyota Corolla, the car slowed down, then stopped right above his head.  Behind Crowley, Ash was struggling with the effort of holding the vehicle up with her power:  She let it drop to the side, missing Dean by a hair.  Crowley spun to glare at her, his eyes blazing red.  <br/> “Don’t you &lt;dare&gt; take his side,” Crowley hissed.  “You’re still mine.  You answer to &lt;me&gt;.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash felt very small.  “You were going to kill him,” she said, her voice so quiet she could barely hear it herself.</p>
<p><br/> “If only he were that easy to kill,” the demon growled.  “You stay out of this.  &lt;Heel&gt;.”</p>
<p><br/> One last flicker of rebellion flared up in her mind, surveyed the situation, and promptly bowed out.  She shifted into a German Shepherd and heeled, sitting just behind and to the right of her master.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean scrambled to his feet, drawing his angel blade.  The handle immediately started to heat up until it was impossible to hold onto any longer, and he was forced to drop it.  <br/> “Aargh.  What the hell, Crowley?” he growled, clutching his burnt hand.  “All this cause I kissed her?  I can’t tell if you’re jealous or you take this helicopter parenting thing too seriously.”  Dean couldn’t resist goading an enemy on when he was cornered; it really was a wonder he’d only died a handful of times already.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley snapped his fingers, and Dean dropped to his knees like he’d been punched.  His features twisted into a tortured grimace Ash had only previously seen in Hell, and he began to twitch and convulse.  Crowley was skipping the middle man of torture and targeting the pain receptors in his brain directly, which was quite effective but much less satisfying than actually digging a knife into a ribcage and jiggling it about.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash jumped to her feet, whimpering; Crowley shot her a nasty glare.  “Stay.”  He began to advance on his prey.</p>
<p><br/> “It’s not the kiss I mind so much, Squirrel.  It’s &lt;you&gt;.  I know you as a human and I knew you as a demon, and if there’s one thing both versions of you lack, it’s a certain amount of self-control.  You’re violent beyond what’s called for, you drink until you pass out, and you’ll fuck just about any woman with a pulse.  Normally admirable traits, I’ll admit, but &lt;not when it comes to my girl&gt;.”  Crowley was now just feet from Dean, eyes glowing red, teeth bared like one of his hounds.  “It’s never &lt;just&gt; a kiss with you, is it?  It always leads to the bedroom, or the Impala, or the bloody freezer in a morgue.  It’s always the same story, told over and over again.”</p>
<p><br/> “A morgue freezer?  Really?” Sam choked, still trying to free himself. </p>
<p><br/> “It was &lt;one time&gt;!” Dean blurted out between bursts of pain.  “There weren’t any bodies in—son of a bitch!” he hissed as another jolt of unpleasantness went straight to his head.  </p>
<p><br/> “I spent the last quarter of a century crafting the perfect anti-apocalypse weapon, and part of the deal—as difficult as the concept may be for some people to grasp—requires that she remain a virgin.  Don’t kill people, don’t have sex.  Not a problem for the past 25 years.  Now here you are, as usual, ‘Winchestering’ everything up.  I should have known better than to trust you with something so important.”  </p>
<p><br/> Ash barked and leapt forward as Dean groaned and curled into himself in pain.  Crowley spun to face her, stopping her in her tracks with his power, and pulled a silver knife from his pocket.  </p>
<p><br/> “What part of ‘stay’ did you not understand?”</p>
<p><br/> The dog whined, her ears flattening, as she looked from Crowley to Dean and back to Crowley.  She couldn’t disobey her demon, but she couldn’t stand seeing Dean hurt.  <br/> “You’re really starting to annoy me, Ash.”  He stabbed the knife through her front paw and it stuck on a patch of ice underneath, pinning her in place.  She yelped in pain and whimpered as the silver continued to burn through her foot: She couldn’t pull it out without burning her mouth as well, and Crowley would have just stabbed her again if she managed to break free.</p>
<p><br/> The demon turned his attention back to Dean.  “Does she know what you’ve done?  The things we got up to together?”  His expression darkened.  “The things you got up to without me?”</p>
<p><br/>Dean glared up at him but couldn’t speak.  </p>
<p><br/>“Does she know about the girls in Austin?  Demon or not, I never thought Dean Winchester would rape and torture an entire sorority.  If that’s the kind of guy she’s fallen for, I may have been a bit &lt;too&gt; influential on her.”</p>
<p><br/>Dean hissed in pain and growled something unintelligible.  Crowley took another step toward him, waiting for a reply.  Before he could muster a response, there was a flutter of wings behind the demon.  </p>
<p><br/>“Crowley!”  Ash looked over Crowley’s shoulder and saw a very pissed-off angel storming toward him.  &lt;And now there’s this&gt;, Ash thought with mounting anxiety.</p>
<p><br/> Crowley stood and turned smoothly to face Castiel, the angel blade dropping into his fist.  “Oh, bugger off,” he grumbled. </p>
<p><br/> “Let him go,” Castiel growled, pointing to Dean with his own blade.  </p>
<p><br/> “I’m not done with him,” Crowley countered, “But you can have the Moose.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam felt the invisible bonds around him break, but there still seemed to be a barrier preventing him from getting closer to the demon.  He could move freely any direction but the one he wanted to go, so he stood his ground.  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel looked like he was in a smiting mood.  Panicking at the thought of losing Crowley, Ash bit down on the silver knife to pull it out and free herself.  It felt like her teeth were cracking out of her skull as she contacted the metal, but after a moment her paw was free and she dropped the offending blade.  She positioned herself between the angel and demon, ready to defend the latter. </p>
<p><br/> “&lt;Crowley&gt;,” Castiel said again, quiet and menacing.  His eyes started to glow, and Ash could just make out the shadows of wings against the dark of the parking lot.  She braced for the angel to attack.</p>
<p><br/> “Fine.”  Crowley snapped his fingers and Dean collapsed to the frozen pavement, shivering.  Ash had a strong urge to go and comfort him, but then Crowley would &lt;really&gt; be pissed off, and there was only so much rage the demon could contain before he started vaporizing people.  She stayed by his side, eyes locked on Castiel.  “He’s all yours; happy?”</p>
<p><br/> The glow faded from the angel’s eyes but didn’t disappear entirely.  “What happened to the cease-fire?”</p>
<p><br/> “He came on to her!” </p>
<p><br/> Dean started to protest and immediately threw up, so Sam spoke up: “It was just a kiss!”</p>
<p><br/> “Oh please; weren’t you listening?  It’s never ‘just’ a kiss,” Crowley snarled.  “But I can see I’m not getting through to any of you.  So I’ll make it simple.”  He turned to glare directly at Dean, keeping the angel in the corner of his vision.  “You shove your dick in my Nephilim, I’ll chop it off and feed it to you before I drag you back to the pits of Hell, and not even Feathers will be able to stop me.”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel frowned and cocked his head to the side.  “That seems harsh.”</p>
<p><br/> “You behave yourself,” Crowley said to Ash.  “I’ll be in touch.”</p>
<p><br/> The demon vanished.  Sam ran to his brother as the invisible barrier dropped, and Castiel was close behind him.  Ash hesitated, unsure if she would be welcomed or not; she limped forward cautiously, stopping a full car-length away from them.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean pulled himself onto his knees, still shivering.  He flinched when Sam grabbed his shoulder, gaze locked resolutely on the ground.  </p>
<p><br/> “Hey.  You okay?” Sam asked.</p>
<p><br/> He nodded.   </p>
<p><br/> Ash glanced back toward the bar as she heard more footsteps.  Sam and Cas heard them, too.</p>
<p><br/> “We should go,” Sam prompted, hauling his brother to his feet.</p>
<p><br/> “Sam—” Dean said, his voice cracking.</p>
<p><br/> “Later,” Sam said, steering them over to the Impala.  Right now, there was a car on its side and a large dent in another, and there were going to be a lot of questions if they stuck around.  Dean held his keys up for Sam as Sam steered him into the passenger seat.  Castiel opened the rear door and motioned for Ash to get in ahead of him; before getting in himself, he collected her discarded clothes, then set them on the seat between him and the dog.  Ash put her injured paw on her jeans: Even though Dean had wisely installed seat covers, she didn’t want to risk bleeding through the fabric and onto the leather seats.  </p>
<p><br/> Sam started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot as casually as possible while people started to exit the bar, curious about the odd crashing sounds they’d heard.  As soon as they were in the clear on the highway, Castiel spoke: </p>
<p><br/> “What happened?”</p>
<p><br/> Sam glanced at Dean to see if he wanted to start; he was staring down at his own knees, but at Cas’s words his eyes flickered briefly to look at Sam.  He couldn’t tell if his brother was still in pain from whatever Crowley had done to him, or if there was something else going on: Embarrassment, maybe?  Either way, it didn’t look like he wanted to do a lot of talking.</p>
<p><br/> “Karaoke,” Sam supplied, because he had to start somewhere.  “Dean and Ash were singing, and then…” He glanced at Dean—his brother hadn’t been embarrassed about a kiss since he was in the tenth grade, as far as he knew, but he supposed this could be different because they had both sworn that Ash was off limits—and plowed forward with his account of events.  “He kissed her, and then everything sort of…Fuzzed out for a second, and when I could see again she was gone.  We ran outside and saw Crowley with her, and he just freaked out at Dean—”</p>
<p><br/> “What do you mean ‘fuzzed out’?” Castiel asked, and Dean actually looked up at Sam in surprise.</p>
<p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “Uh…It was sort of like a really vivid daydream, when you just kind of zone out?  I remember feeling this odd sort of happiness, which was wrong because I was…Concerned about Dean.  My vision went white for a second and I felt this panic, but like it wasn’t coming from me, and then everything went back to normal—well, not &lt;normal&gt;.  Everyone else in the bar looked confused, like they’d spaced out too.”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel looked at Ash, who was actively trying to melt into the seat and disappear.  Tiny particles of silver still in her paw were preventing her from shifting into something small enough to actually hide.  “A strong emotional response triggered an outward projection of energy.  Humans are accustomed to such feelings and accepted the outburst as their own emotional fluctuations.  Had a demon been present, it’s possible that you could have driven it mad or even killed it.”  The angel smiled at the thought, then his face quickly dropped to a more serious expression.  “Crowley can feel you use your power, even though you didn’t know you were doing it.  So…He blinks into the bar, sees you with Dean, and blinks both of you outside?”</p>
<p><br/> “I…Guess so,” Sam said.  “I didn’t actually see her disappear.”  He looked to Dean for clarification, but his brother just nodded, now staring straight ahead at the road, refusing to look at him.</p>
<p><br/> Ash raised her head just enough to shake it back and forth, &lt;no.  I…Blinked myself&gt;, she thought in the careful, articulate way she would broadcast speech to Crowley when she wasn’t human.  &lt;Not on purpose—I just…Panicked, and suddenly I was dropping onto the trunk of the Impala.  Then Crowley showed up.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> “Ah,” the angel said, “He felt the initial energy burst, followed by the teleportation, and figured something was wrong.  Then, I assume, he read your mind.”  He mimicked the action, moving one hand toward the dog’s forehead.  She whined and scooted backwards: She didn’t want anyone else rooting around in her head, but she also knew she didn’t have much of a choice.  She could bite him if he tried to touch her, but biting the hand of the angel that protected her from all the other angels was probably not a wise career move at this point.  Thankfully, Cas’s hand stopped short of her head and returned to rest on the seat.  “Crowley has agreed to ‘share’ you with Sam and Dean because he believes it is the most beneficial arrangement, and I believe he’s right:  However, that hasn’t stopped him from feeling possessive of you.  In addition to protecting his ‘weapon,’ as he says, he also feels his bond with you is being threatened by Dean.”</p>
<p><br/> “Back it up,” Dean said, startling Sam after his elongated silence.  “I’m threatening his ‘bond’?  Are you saying Crowley is—He wants to bang her?  But isn’t he technically her d--”</p>
<p><br/> Ash growled behind him, and Cas shook his head.  “The fact that he’s related wouldn’t matter to a demon.  But no, I don’t think he wants to ‘bang’ her.  He knows that would negate her effectiveness according to the prophecy he’s read.  I suppose he could desire her, and just show an unnatural amount of restraint for a demon, likely due to the…Influence she has on him.  I believe it’s similar to what he experienced while addicted to human blood: She makes him feel emotions, and more ‘human.’  If he did desire a sexual relationship with her, he certainly could have forced her to perform sexual acts that did not involve the loss of her virginity, such as oral sex, but I do not believe that to be the case based on—I’m sorry, is the subject of sex uncomfortable to you?  I forget that virgins tend to find the subject unpleasant,” Castiel cut himself off, looking curiously at the dog as she slid off the seat and into the footwells.  </p>
<p><br/> Sam glanced into the backseat to see what Cas was reacting to, then turned to gauge his brother’s reaction: His forehead was pressed against the window, and the rigidity in his shoulders indicated that he would rather be back having the pain centers of his brain activated repeatedly than continue a discussion on Crowley’s potential sex life with Ash.</p>
<p><br/> Sam cleared his throat.  “Could we just have a rule, to never ever, ever, mention Crowley, Ash, and blowjobs in the same sentence again?  Because that is one mental image I never want to see—”</p>
<p><br/> Dean actually retched a little as his own imagination conjured up the image for a second time.  Ash whimpered from the floor, but the sound of the engine covered the noise.<br/> “Understood,” said Cas.  For the most part, angels lacked the insane creativity and imagination of humans, but he’d been part-angel and full-human long enough to retain much of their thought processes.  The image was indeed unfavorable, to say the least.  </p>
<p><br/> They drove in silence for a while, each passenger caught up in their own thoughts.  Eventually Dean became aware of Sam repeatedly glancing at him and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, signs that he really wanted to say something that Dean wasn’t going to like.</p>
<p><br/> “Just spit it out, before you burst a freakin’ artery.”  Besides, what could possibly be more upsetting than anything they’d already touched on?</p>
<p><br/> Sam exhaled deeply, like he’d been holding his breath.  “Was Crowley telling the truth?  About…About Texas?” </p>
<p><br/> Dean blinked.  His brain struggled to jump onto the right track: What did the demon say about Texas?  He’d been in a lot of pain, so it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d missed some vital bit of information.  But then he remembered, because the terror and guilt and shame he’d felt when Crowley mentioned the girls in Austin had overridden the physical pain that already overwhelmed him.  He shuddered and turned his face away from Sam, looking out the passenger side window.  He’d suppressed the memory of most of what he’d done as a demon: Killing, raping, really bad karaoke, the odd torture lesson from Crowley; because it was too hard to think about.  He could rationalize it to himself: He was a demon when he’d done those things, because that was just what demons did, but deep down he still felt responsible for everything, and there had been a lot of blood on his hands.  The Mark &lt;needed&gt; a lot of blood.  </p>
<p><br/> Sam knew some of what Dean had done.  But he hadn’t told him about Austin…And Dallas, and Houston, and then New Orleans.  Sex had been great as a human, and it was fine as a demon, but it just wasn’t the same somehow—but &lt;violent&gt; sex, well, that satisfied the Mark as well as his own insatiable lust.  And demons didn’t go for the sort of Fifty Shades, BDSM roleplay shit—they &lt;took&gt;, from anyone who was unwilling, and sex became a conquest:  Killing removed life, but forced sex took away dignity and power, which was much more satisfying.  Once he’d been cured, Dean had been beyond mortified at what he’d done.  And it had made losing control from the leviathan’s drug all the more terrifying, because he had sworn to himself &lt;never again&gt;.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean nodded.  “Yeah,” he said quietly.</p>
<p><br/> “Oh,” was all Sam could say in return.  His grip tightened on the wheel, and he focused on the road in front of him.  “Well, you were a demon.  You can’t be held accountable for everything you did while—”</p>
<p><br/> “Of course I can!” Dean snapped.  “You make it sound like I was &lt;possessed&gt;, like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing; but I &lt;did&gt;, Sam.  The Mark made me violent and the demon lowered my inhibitions, but I was still &lt;me&gt;.  I killed people, I ra—” he choked on the word and felt his eyes and throat burn.  He shook his head: He was not going to cry in front of Sam.  Not over this, something that was his fault, something he’d done of his own free will.  He still felt compelled to tell him, and Cas, almost like a Catholic confession, though he knew there was no amount of ‘hail Mary’s’ he could do to make up for it.  He just really, &lt;really&gt; wished Ash wasn’t in the car with them, even though she already knew.  “I raped…A lot of women,” he said quietly.  “It…Made me feel powerful.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash could smell the guilt radiating from him, and knew he felt terrible about the things he’d done as a demon, just as Sam felt guilty about the things he’d done without his soul, and she knew they were both, in a way, innocent and guilty at the same time, and it was one big philosophical mess of a question that would never really be answered.  With Crowley as her best frame of reference, the Winchesters were saints in comparison: While she understood the reasons for their guilt, part of her also thought, &lt;Yes, sure, you may have murdered a troop of Girl Scouts, but it’s not like you were doing it for 400 years&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> The rest of the ride was filled with an uncomfortable silence.  Back in the bunker, Dean’s mood lifted slightly with the knowledge that he could finally escape the others and drown his feelings in a bottle of whiskey.  He felt too guilty to just abandon them, though, especially since he’d pulled Cas away from Heaven to rescue him, so he lingered in the war room, steadfastly refusing to look anyone in the eye.  </p>
<p><br/> “What happened to your arm?” Castiel asked Sam, noticing the splint on his wrist.</p>
<p><br/> It couldn’t have been more than a week since it had happened, but Sam had to work to recall the altercation.  “Run-in with a god,” he said with a shrug.</p>
<p> <br/> Cas healed him, then turned his attention to Dean.  “Are you injured as well?”</p>
<p><br/> Dean rolled his ankle smoothly.  “Nope.  All good.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash ducked behind Sam, knowing she’d be next on the angel’s line of inquiry.  </p>
<p><br/> Cas sighed.  “It’s silver, Ash.  You’re not going to heal it on your own.  Come on—I’m not going to hurt you.”  He stepped toward her and crouched down to be on her level, holding his hand out in invitation.  He tilted his head slightly, like he was listening to someone.  “No one is upset with you,” he said softly.  “I understand you have to do as he says; I don’t take it personally.  And though you may see it as a failure to protect your friends, I saw you get between Dean and Crowley—you couldn’t fight back, but you still stood up to him, in a way.  That’s not easy.”</p>
<p><br/> “Can…Is she talking to you?” Sam asked.</p>
<p><br/> Castiel nodded.  “It’s similar to prayer,” he explained.  “I don’t always get every word, but it’s a decent form of communication when she’s not human.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash weaved around Sam’s legs to stand in front of Cas, letting him touch and heal her.  </p>
<p><br/> “Do you have to go back?” Sam asked, more anxiously than he’d meant to.  He could sense Dean spiraling back into depression, and evidently Ash was now porting randomly and without control, and there was still the whole messy business of Dean kissing her, so he definitely felt like it would be helpful to have Cas around as backup, or at least as emotional support.  </p>
<p><br/> “I will return now to get things to a place where I can leave them,” the angel replied.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can tomorrow: If Ash ported once, she can do it again, but she needs to learn how to do it intentionally, or she might end up somewhere she doesn’t want to be.”  He looked to Dean, who had already liberated a glass and a bottle of scotch from the communal liquor cabinet.  “Dean,” he said, and the elder Winchester flinched at his name.  “I know I cannot convince you to forgive yourself for the things you did while you bore the Mark, so I won’t try.  And…Though I hate to agree with Crowley, it really is of utmost importance that the Nephilim remains a virgin.  I’ve been doing some research in Heaven, and multiple texts indicate that ‘sullying’ the body through sex would prevent her from realizing the extent of her abilities.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash growled and slunk out of the room.  She’d had enough talk from other people about her body for one day: Of course she couldn’t have sex, that wasn’t news, but it was aggravating as Hell to have to listen to Crowley and Castiel carry on about it.  &lt;Just one more aspect of your life you don’t get a say in&gt;, she thought bitterly as she headed down the hall, away from the others.  &lt;It’s bad enough I have no control over my life, but to constantly be reminded of it is just rubbing silver in the wound&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> Dean turned as Ash left, and took a step like he wanted to follow her.  But what was there to say?  ‘Hey, I’m sorry I overstepped a boundary by kissing you, and I’m super sorry I violated a bunch of women when I was a demon.  Are we cool?’  Instead, he slumped into a chair and took another gulp of scotch.  </p>
<p><br/> “I know, Cas.  I get it.  I’m not going to have sex with her, okay?  I just had a momentary lapse of judgement when I kissed her.  And now she’s probably not going to speak to me for a while, so…No more lapses.”  He glared into his almost-empty glass.</p>
<p><br/> Castiel left, leaving Sam to deal with his brother and the hybrid.  The alcohol would be a fine babysitter for Dean until he passed out, which left Ash to worry about—Sam got the feeling her power was tied to her emotions, meaning she was particularly volatile at the moment.  Though she shouldn’t be able to port out of the bunker, she could probably destroy a good chunk of it without meaning to.  Sam left his brother with the scotch and went to find her.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p> She wasn’t in Dean’s room, which was his first guess—but of course she wouldn’t be there, she didn’t want to deal with him right now, did she?  He continued down the hallway, eventually making his way down to the dungeon.  Surely she wouldn’t hang out there?  Although, he reasoned, it was the perfect place for something like her to blow off steam, since damage to the environment would be negligible.  </p>
<p><br/> Evidently she’d had the same thought, because that was where he found her, shaking and huddled in the center of the devil’s trap.  There were a few scorch marks on the walls and ceiling that looked fresh, but nothing looked damaged, including the dog.  </p>
<p><br/> Sam sat down cross-legged at the edge of the circle.  “Hey.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash’s head snapped up to look at him.  She stopped shaking and her tail wagged once; Sam placed his hands on his knees, palms up, silently inviting her to come to him.  Ash got to her feet and padded over to lie down against his legs, resting her head against his shin.  He ran a hand across her head down the scruff of her neck and continued to pet her, and she began to relax.  </p>
<p><br/> “Dean will be alright,” Sam said, knowing he was trying to have a conversation with someone who couldn’t talk back.  “He’ll just repress everything, like he always does, and be more of an asshole, but we’ll find another case and keep killing stuff until he’s back to his baseline level of functionality.”  Ash huffed and nudged his arm with her wet nose.  “Me?”  Sam shrugged.  “I can handle Dean; I’m more worried about you suddenly ripping the planet in half or something.  You aren’t exactly predictable.”  The dog grumbled in protest, and he smiled.  “Well, maybe not rip the whole planet in half; but until today, you hadn’t ported, either, so we can’t really rule anything out.”  He shifted his legs and Ash moved her head away.  “This floor is killing me.  Come on—let’s get you set up in a real room.”  </p>
<p><br/> Sam stood and shook his legs out: The concrete hadn’t done him any favors.  He paused at the door to the dungeon to make sure Ash was following him, then led her down the hall to one of many spare rooms.  </p>
<p><br/> “There’s plenty of empty ones, but they’re not made up.  Charlie stayed here last, so there’s at least a blanket on the bed.  If you want, I can change the sheets, but there’s really no point if you’re just going to sleep on top of them anyway…”</p>
<p><br/> Ash wagged her tail in approval and hopped onto the foot of the bed.  Sam sat down next to her, toed his shoes off, and flopped onto his back.  &lt;Cas will be back tomorrow&gt;, he told himself.  &lt;You just have to handle grumpy Dean and Hell-knows-what-to-expect Ash until then&gt;.  Ash would be fine as long as she didn’t get emotional about anything.  Dean would be fine as long as he kept drinking, but even with his extreme tolerance, a body could only take so much alcohol before it shut down.  Sam wondered what was bothering his brother more: Ash’s reaction, and—well—&lt;everyone’s&gt; reaction—to him kissing her, or Crowley dredging up his past transgressions.  They’d done a lot of crap they weren’t proud of: Broken every law, killed people who probably didn’t deserve to die, and almost caused the end of the world more times than they could count, but it was always with the best intentions.  What was that saying, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions?  And they’d &lt;been&gt; to Hell, so hey—score one for cliched sayings.  But they’d never done crap with &lt;bad&gt; intentions.  Sam had done a lot of bad shit without his soul, and he still felt a lot of guilt about it, but even then he hadn’t been thinking maliciously.  He’d just…&lt;Been&gt;.  It was hard to fathom the thought processes he’d had at the time.  </p>
<p><br/> But when Dean had the Mark, he’d killed because he &lt;wanted&gt; to, because he enjoyed it.  He’d always felt better after taking out a few monsters on a hunt, had always had a tendency toward anger and violence, and the Mark had taken that and expanded it to the extent that he wasn’t just shooting to kill anymore, he was shooting to fill a corpse with bullets.  He would crack a skull and keep going until you couldn’t tell there’d been a head to begin with, long after the occupant of said skull was deceased.  So it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Sam that Demon-Dean had taken to sexual violence, too; but that didn’t stop it from bothering him.  Sam had been so upset after their encounter with the leviathan sex serum, when he’d essentially raped that woman, he’d barely been able to function for days after, and technically he hadn’t even been in control at the time.  If he thought about it, he could argue that Dean hadn’t been in control of himself, either, since he was a demon at the time.  On the other hand, he hadn’t been possessed by &lt;another&gt; demon: It was all him, all Dean, just…Altered.  He didn’t want to blame him, but he couldn’t &lt;not&gt; blame him…</p>
<p><br/> Ash whimpered and nudged his shoulder.</p>
<p><br/> “Huh?  Oh, sorry, I…Was just thinking,” he said.  Should he talk to her about it?  She was good with all this ‘feelings’ crap, unlike Dean, but she also tended to go all ‘Carrie.’  He’d try to keep it light.  “You, uh…Crowley didn’t tell you about what Dean got up to as a demon, did he?”</p>
<p><br/> She shook her head.  He’d bitched to her a couple of times about how Dean was out of control, killing contracts or leaving messes behind that were bad for business, but he hadn’t gone into much detail.  </p>
<p><br/> “Are you…Okay with it?  I don’t mean—I’m not saying you should be cool with—with rape, I’m just wondering if you…Would hold it against him, that he did that as a demon.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash tilted her head to the side.  She wanted to say, ‘no, because that’s not who he is now, and besides have you met Crowley?’  She shook her head. </p>
<p><br/> “Yeah, me neither,” Sam said.  But it feels more complicated the more you think about it, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p><br/> She nodded.</p>
<p><br/> Sam was quiet for a minute, and Ash snuggled up against his side.  She was starting to drift off to sleep when he said, “Was that your first kiss, ever?”</p>
<p><br/> She could have bitten him.  Things were going so well with them not talking about it, but of course Sam had to go there.  Ash growled low in her throat.  </p>
<p><br/> “It was, wasn’t it?  You’ve never had any sort of romantic…Relationship before, with anyone.  No wonder you freaked out.”</p>
<p><br/> The growl increased in volume.  &lt;I did not freak out, I just…Panicked&gt;, she thought lamely.  </p>
<p><br/> Sam plowed on with his interrogation, unconcerned by the dog’s warning.  He was half-asleep himself as he carried on: “Well that means Cas was right, at least, right?  Crowley never made you do anything…Sexual.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash snarled and bit his hand.  &lt;Of course he didn’t!&gt;  </p>
<p><br/> Sam flinched at the bite, and Ash immediately felt bad and licked at the spot in apology.  He held his hand up to inspect it.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Sam trailed off mid-sentence.  “You didn’t even break the skin.”  He patted her head and she licked his hand again, still feeling guilty about it.  “I’ll stop with the questions, I’m sorry.  Get some sleep.”  He sat up and turned to the side, like he was going to get up, then flopped back onto the bed, and started snoring gently.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash put her head on her paws for a moment and closed her eyes, but couldn’t sleep just yet.  She took the edge of the blanket in her teeth and pulled it over Sam as best she could; he’d be uncomfortable if he stayed like this all night, with half his legs dangling over the edge of the bed and his back twisted slightly, but she didn’t think she could move him without waking him.  She padded silently into the hall and went to make sure Dean was okay.</p>
<p><br/> The door to his room was shut and locked.  She could hear him snoring inside, and the volume level suggested he’d continued making friends with the scotch long after she left the war room.  Well, if he was breathing he was alive, so that was a start.  In the morning, if he was upset with her, or angry, she’d have to deal with it then.  She curled up against the closed door and fell asleep.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Castiel appeared in the blood-spattered room across from where Crowley was working.  </p>
<p><br/> “What do you want?” Crowley growled, barely looking up from the body in front of him.</p>
<p><br/> Castiel took a cautious step forward.  He felt the reassuring rigidity of the blade up his sleeve, and tried to look more confident.  This was only Crowley, after all: He could handle anything the demon threw at him, and then some.  He watched him pick up something small with multiple prongs, rather like a gardening implement for breaking the soil, and jab it into the body strapped to the table.  Crowley frowned at the weak yelp it elicited, and selected another tool.</p>
<p><br/> “I wanted to discuss Ash’s training with—” he cocked his head.  “What are you doing?”</p>
<p><br/> “Product testing,” the demon replied.  He turned to Cas and held up a long, narrow blade.  He pressed a switch on the handle and two additional blades sprung out to the side, like a very short-handled rake.  </p>
<p><br/> Cas looked at the weapon, then back to Crowley.  “Are you going to help her with teleportation?”</p>
<p><br/> “Seems more like your area of expertise,” he replied, absent-mindedly prying a fingernail off his victim.  The man on the table yelped, but not loud enough to be satisfying.  <br/> “You’re still upset about Dean—”</p>
<p><br/> “Don’t talk to me about Squirrel!” Crowley snarled, jamming a knife into his subject’s spleen without breaking eye contact with the angel.  “I should have known—Hell, I &lt;did&gt; know he would do something like this, but I just…”  Unable to put into words exactly how much he resented the Winchester, he clenched his fist and the tortured person exploded in a mess of blood and guts.  Castiel turned his head to avoid the spray, then used his grace to clear the mess from his skin and clothes.  </p>
<p><br/> “You’re afraid she’ll choose him over you,” Cas said calmly.</p>
<p><br/> “I didn’t ask for Dr. Phil,” Crowley snapped, “So you can leave your ‘feelings’ mumbo jumbo for the humans.  Of course she’ll choose him—I’m a bloody demon!  Nobody ‘chooses’ the demon!  I just…” He shook his head.  “I never should have left her with &lt;them&gt;.”</p>
<p><br/> “They were the best option available.  They still are.”</p>
<p><br/> “Of course you’d say that, you’re besties,” the demon growled, removing his torture apron and straightening his tie.  “You ‘gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.’”</p>
<p><br/> “Am I wrong?”</p>
<p><br/> “No, damn it,” he sighed.  “I’m just waiting for the day I can finally end their pathetic little—”</p>
<p><br/> “Crowley!” Cas snapped, shooting him a warning look.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley washed his hands in an old bloodstained sink.  “What?  A demon can dream, can’t he?  You know I can’t take them out as long as Ash is in the picture.  Lucifer knows she’d make me feel terrible about it.”</p>
<p><br/> The angel smiled.  “She certainly brings out the best in you.”</p>
<p><br/> “Shut up,” he growled.  He dried his hands on a towel that was already stained red and black.  “You just figure out this porting thing with her, so I don’t have to.  She’s getting stronger, Castiel.  I can feel it, even from Hell.”  He shook his head.  “End of the world can’t come soon enough.”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel’s smile remained.  There was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that the more powerful Ash grew, the more tortured and human Crowley became.  “I’ll see what I can do.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Dean woke up from a deep, alcohol-induced slumber and felt the sudden urge to vomit.  He bolted to the toilet, making it just in time, then spent several minutes brushing the taste of half-digested scotch and burger out of his mouth.  He’d heard somewhere that tomatoes were especially nasty coming back up, and of course he’d had tomato on his burger; it really was much worse than it had any right to be.  </p>
<p><br/> Feeling much better now that his stomach was empty, he grabbed some ibuprofen for the inevitable headache that would hit in a few hours and sat back down on the edge of the bed.  It was strange not having Ash with him: He’d gotten so used to having what was normally a dog on his bed at night that the room felt empty without her.  He felt a nasty tightness hit his chest as he wondered if she’d want to stay with him again, or if those days were over—damn, he had to go and ruin a good thing, didn’t he?  They could have kept being…Whatever they were, and it would have been fine, but he had to push it.  And he’d pushed her away.  Of course she didn’t want him to kiss her: She’d never had any sort of romantic relationship with anybody (and he hoped to Chuck that Cas was right about her and Crowley), she’d spent her whole life purposefully avoiding that whole aspect of life, and then he came along and tried to shove his tongue in her mouth—not a smooth move, in retrospect.  </p>
<p><br/> So what could he do from here?  Apologize?  He needed to pull a Sam, he realized, and talk things out with her, tell her he was wrong, he’d just got caught up in the moment—Jesus, he was bad at this crap.  Maybe he could just get Sam to talk to her, assuming Sam was still talking to him.  He hadn’t exactly been thrilled about Dean’s actions, either.  </p>
<p><br/> He stood up and looked at the digital alarm clock by his bed: 3:15am.  He needed to check on Ash, just needed to see her and be sure she was still in the bunker.  Sammy would have talked to her, he wouldn’t let her leave: She was too visible to other angels and demons outside of the bunker, it wasn’t safe without one of them looking out for her.  He would check Sam’s room first: maybe she’d be staying with him, since she liked sleeping close to one of them.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean opened his door and stepped into the dark hall, immediately stepping on and tripping over something big and furry.  Ash yelped and Dean grunted in surprise as demonic energy threw him into the wall.  He recovered, caught his balance, and turned as she stood and shook herself off.</p>
<p><br/> “Ash?” Dean said, confused.  “Why are you on the floor?  Are you okay?”</p>
<p><br/> She whined and nuzzled his hand.</p>
<p><br/> “I’m fine.  You just…Surprised me.”</p>
<p><br/> The guest room door opened and Sam emerged, back sore from sleeping in a weird position and eyes glazed with the remnants of sleep.  He gave Dean a questioning look.</p>
<p><br/> “We’re okay, Sam.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam yawned.  “Lucifer stuff?”</p>
<p><br/> “N—”</p>
<p><br/> Ash nodded and whined again, padding over to him for conciliatory ear scratches.  Lucifer was explaining to her why his Father’s creation should be destroyed, starting with all the horrible things humans did.  He’d shown her everything from the 9/11 terrorist attacks to a man cutting off a dog’s feet for no reason.  As much as she hated the devil, she was starting to think he had a point about humanity being beyond saving.  He was just getting into the finer points of human trafficking, showing her a massive Mexican operation, when Dean had tripped over her and woken her up.</p>
<p><br/> Dean yawned.  “Lucifer?  Oh, the…Dreams?”  That would explain why she chucked him across the hall.</p>
<p><br/> Sam continued to scratch behind the dog’s ears.  “Want to talk about it?”</p>
<p><br/> No.  She definitely did not want to talk about it.</p>
<p><br/> “Okay.”  Sam yawned.  “I’m gonna go back to bed.  You can stay with me if you want.”  He looked over at his brother.  “…Or not.”  He shuffled off to his own room, leaving the door cracked just in case.</p>
<p><br/> Dean stood in the hall for a moment, groggily wondering if this meant he’d been forgiven for his earlier faux pas at the bar.  “Yeah.  What he said.”  He started to go back inside, but paused in the doorway, waiting.  </p>
<p><br/> Her initial instinct was to follow Dean, like she always did.  But her nerves were fried from Lucifer’s ‘lessons,’ and Sam was less…Complicated.  Then again, Dean was waiting for her.  Maybe he’d forgiven her for freaking out earlier (and for Crowley chewing him out).  </p>
<p><br/> As Ash entered his room, her nose was immediately met with the sharp tang of scotch, and a faint sickly-sweet smell of vomit.  She hopped onto the foot of the bed and laid down, keeping her head up, tired but not wanting to fall asleep again.  Dean climbed back into bed and pulled up some mindless show they could watch (a weapon-building competition—he and Sam had learned a few things from it).</p>
<p><br/> “You okay?” he asked, aware that she’d been asked that several times already.</p>
<p><br/> She nodded, but she looked stiff, anxious.  If she’d been human, she probably would have had little worry lines on her forehead.  Dean rolled onto his side and patted the empty space next to him.  Ash narrowed her eyes.</p>
<p><br/> Ah.  Not entirely forgiven, then.</p>
<p><br/> “I’m not gonna kiss you.  I promise.”</p>
<p><br/> She rolled her eyes and growled, but eventually gave in and curled up against his chest.  She’d been thinking about what Sam had said in the car about feeling her emotions earlier, and was now about 90% sure that Dean had only kissed her because she’d been inadvertently making him feel things, and he’d just been caught up thinking about one of his old girlfriends.  Logically, she knew he wasn’t attracted to her at all: She was a monster.  The supernatural.  The kiss was just a fluke.  A mistake.  </p>
<p><br/> But damn, she’d do anything to kiss him again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Dean woke up alone.  This was not, on its own, unusual, because Ash often got up early to run with Sam; but today it felt like just another indication that he’d messed things up.  He dressed quickly and brushed his teeth again when he realized he could still taste bile on the back of his tongue, then made his way to the kitchen.  </p>
<p><br/> Sam had two pans going on the stove: One with pancakes, and one with bacon.  If Sam was willing to cook him breakfast still, he wasn’t that cross with him, at least.  He knew they were still going to have to talk about things—things he’d done as a demon, and things he’d done at the bar last night—but it was looking less like it was going to be a shouty talk, and more like a calm, rational talk.  </p>
<p><br/> “Hey,” Dean said, announcing his presence over the sizzle of fat.</p>
<p> <br/> “Pedialyte’s in the fridge,” Sam responded, flipping a pancake over.  </p>
<p><br/> “Uh, thanks.”  Dean grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig.  He didn’t have a hangover, probably thanks to hurling everything up earlier, but he could still use the electrolytes.  “Have you seen Ash?”</p>
<p><br/> “She’s in the library with Cas.  He showed up just as we got back from our run.  I wouldn’t bother them right now: He’s trying to teach her how to port.”</p>
<p><br/> Dean grabbed himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.  “She seem…Okay to you?”</p>
<p><br/> Sam dumped the bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate and pushed it across the table to him.  “Sure.  For Ash.  I mean, there was you, then Crowley, then Lucifer…”</p>
<p><br/> Dean sighed heavily and scrubbed at his eyes.  “I wasn’t thinking, man.  I just got…Caught up in the moment, or something.”</p>
<p><br/> “She doesn’t understand how this stuff works,” Sam said, turning a pancake onto the growing stack and sliding it over to land next to the bacon.  “She’s only ever had a sort of owner-pet type relationship with people, including Crowley.  She’s always had a limited amount of freedom, and just done whatever she was told.  I don’t think she’s felt like an equal with anyone—never had a sibling or a friend that would let her know it’s okay to have her own will.  She probably freaked out when you kissed her because she felt like she &lt;had&gt; to kiss you back, but she knew she’d get in trouble with Crowley—”</p>
<p><br/> “So she disappeared,” Dean said.  He took a gulp of coffee and burned his tongue.  “You’re saying I really won’t know if she does something because she wants to, or because she thinks it’s what &lt;I&gt; want.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam nodded.</p>
<p><br/> Dean rubbed his temple.  “Sounds a lot like dubious consent.”</p>
<p><br/> His brother shrugged.  “At least you know you can’t have sex with her.”</p>
<p><br/> He let out a bitter laugh.  “You think Crowley and Cas made that clear enough?  I know the damn rule.”</p>
<p><br/> “Well, Crowley was just being overprotective.  And Cas…Well, you know how he is.  Gotta make everything awkward.”</p>
<p><br/> “Tell me about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Ash was drenched in sweat, and they’d barely started.  Castiel had ported them to the dungeon after she accidentally set fire to a wall of books: She could only inflict minimal damage here.  She focused again and tried to port into the hall, jumping when the cement cracked under her feet.</p>
<p><br/> “I’m beginning to think you don’t port like an angel,” Cas said.  “When you did it before, you were having a strong emotional reaction, just like when you use your other powers.”  He shuffled back slightly.  “Instead of focusing on &lt;where&gt; you want to go, try thinking about &lt;why&gt;.  Tell yourself a story, and make your mind believe it—the boys being attacked by werewolves, for example—and you need to reach them in the hallway in order to save them.”</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Okay.  Werewolves.  Under attack.  You can do this&gt;, Ash thought.  She closed her eyes and tensed her muscles, and another, more prevalent thought came to her: &lt;You need to do this or Crowley is going to kick your ass&gt;.  Her eyes snapped open as she felt the odd pulling sensation, and her vision oscillated between white and black.  When she could see again, she was no longer in the dungeon—score!  But she also wasn’t in the hallway.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley looked up from his desk in surprise.  He was in the middle of a very long, boring review of contracts, and he’d been hoping for some excitement, but certainly hadn’t expected Ash to appear.  He stood up, swaying slightly as he fought against the wave of feeling that washed over him.  It was getting harder and harder not to crack like the other demons—but he was Crowley, damn it, and he was not going to break down and start blubbering about how his mum never loved him.  </p>
<p><br/> “Ugh,” said Ash, dropping to her knees.  She looked unnaturally pale.</p>
<p><br/> “Not where you were expecting to pop up?” Crowley asked, shaking slightly as he approached her.  &lt;I just want to be loved; I deserve to be loved!&gt;  He growled and shook his head, banishing the thought.  He was not going to go down &lt;that&gt; road again.  Curse the bloody Winchesters and their stupid Trials!  </p>
<p><br/> “Was in the dungeon,” Ash said.  “Wanted the hallway.”</p>
<p><br/> “You were in the bunker?  You can’t port out of there!”</p>
<p><br/> “I know.”  </p>
<p><br/> He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Okay.  Alright.  I can fix this.”  He started to pace around her.  “You tried to port to the hallway but diverted to me—why?”</p>
<p><br/> Ash managed to look even paler. </p>
<p><br/> “You were afraid I’d be disappointed if you failed.  You ported to me because you were thinking about me—makes sense.  Most of your power comes from your bloody emotions, why would this be any different?  Alright, so…We just get you to focus on the angel, and you’ll port back to him.  If you got past the bunker’s warding once, you should be able to do it again.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash nodded.  She felt like she needed to catch her breath, but she tried to focus on Cas.  She could be afraid of Cas, right?  He was just as powerful as Crowley, and at one point had been ready to destroy her.  Now, though, he didn’t feel like much of a threat to her.  He was a threat to Crowley, though; maybe if she did what he said, imagined that Crowley was in danger and she had to stop Cas from hurting him…No, she could tell that would just draw her back to Crowley again.</p>
<p> <br/> Crowley sighed, seeing her falter.  “Dean, then.  Go back to your bloody Squirrel.  I know you can handle that.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash cringed, eyes fixed on the floor.  &lt;I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I got between you.  I won’t let him hurt you, but I can’t let him get hurt either.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> The demon patted her head, nearly losing his composure as he was overwhelmed with more feelings of love and guilt.  But he didn’t become King of Hell just to break down because his Nephilim was making him &lt;human&gt;.  “It’s alright, Pet.  Just…Go home, before I have demons openly weeping in the halls.  It’s not good for our image.”<br/> She nodded, and focused on Dean.  He hadn’t acted too upset with her when he’d found her outside his door, but he’d had a lot to drink; would he still want to deal with her when he was sober?  She loved him so much, and hated that she’d disappointed him; it must have been humiliating, having her disappear like that.  She closed her eyes and focused on the bunker, on Dean and Sam, and felt herself slip between space.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> “How about this one?” Dean said, adjusting his laptop screen.  He was in the library with Sam, trying to find another case to take his mind off of…Recent events.  “Touristy town in Texas, big on dude ranches.  Local ranch hands stumbled across a pile of dead bodies, 13 in total; most were vacationers from out of state.  They were all found naked, and with their…”  He trailed off and turned the screen so that Sam could read it for himself.  A local resident was quoted as saying, ‘It looked like an orgy gone wrong.’  All the victims had died from complications when a massive object had been inserted into their vagina (for the women) or anus (for the men) and shoved so far up into the body that at least one victim’s lungs had been bruised.</p>
<p><br/> Sam walked around to look over his brother’s shoulder.  “…Something trying to impregnate people, you think?  Like those cicada things?”</p>
<p><br/> Dean gave him a blank look.</p>
<p><br/> “I don’t remember what they were called.  They were dormant for a long time, then they had to take over a human host to mate—remember?  Those two hunters helped us out?”</p>
<p><br/> “Oh.  Right.  I mean, it’s gotta be &lt;something.&gt;  Or one really fucked up human.  But they usually pick a type, and these are every gender, every age…Gotta be something in our wheelhouse.  And it’s in Texas.  Warm, dry…”</p>
<p><br/> “You just want to play cowboy on a dude ranch,” Sam said with a grin.  “You remember how well you did on a horse last time?”</p>
<p><br/> “That was bareback, it’s easier with a saddle and reins and all that stuff,” Dean said, remembering the disaster with Ash.  “Come on, Sammy—why run off to South Dakota and freeze our asses off looking for a Wendigo out in the middle of the woods when we could be hunting horny insects on a ranch in Texas?”</p>
<p><br/> Sam sighed.  “Alright, we’ll check it out.  Are you going to be okay with…You know…?”</p>
<p><br/> “What?”</p>
<p><br/> “Ash.”</p>
<p><br/> Dean bristled.  “Of course.  Why wouldn’t I be—"</p>
<p><br/> The lights flickered briefly and an alarm sounded.  Dean got to his feet, and both boys drew their weapons.  A moment later, Ash appeared about six feet in the air and dropped onto the floor, landing on her back with an unhealthy thump.  </p>
<p><br/> The alarm turned off and the lights returned to normal; Castiel rushed in a moment later, and looked surprised to see Ash on the floor.  She sat up, pulling air back into her lungs, and felt her face flush in embarrassment.  </p>
<p><br/> “I’m okay.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam and Dean replaced their weapons and went to help her up, but Cas beat them to it.  </p>
<p><br/> “I wonder why you keep missing the ground,” he said as he hauled her to her feet, absent-mindedly healing a bruise she’d sustained in the drop.  “We’ll have to try a different approach, but I think it would be best to take a break for now.”</p>
<p><br/> “Yeah,” she said gratefully, “A break.”</p>
<p><br/> She slumped into a chair next to where Sam had been sitting and turned his laptop to look at the screen.  “We going to Michigan?”</p>
<p><br/> “Actually, Dean found something in Texas we want to look into,” Sam said, pulling Dean’s laptop across the table for her.  “But if Cas is willing, it might be better for you to stay here and train with him, so you don’t…I don’t know…Port into an oncoming truck, or something?”</p>
<p><br/> Ash looked back at the angel, who nodded.  “I can spare a few days,” Cas replied.  “Call if you need my—our—assistance.”</p>
<p><br/> “Right.  Good,” Sam said.  “Dean and I will go to Texas, and you and Ash will be here.”  &lt;And no one will be awkwardly pining after anyone.&gt;</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11: Nude Ranch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>***WARNING*** Non-consensual orgies ahead.  I repeat, non-consensual orgies ahead.  </p><p>The boys investigate some unusual deaths at a nudist ranch in Texas.  Things go downhill from there.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ash hadn’t heard from Sam and Dean all day, which was unusual: Sam had been keeping her up to date through texts over the past three days while they attempted to figure out what was killing people in Texas.  The majority of the victims had been staying at “Jefferson’s Premiere Nude Dude Ranch,” a resort where tourists could strip all their clothes off and learn to ride horses, manage a herd of cattle, and eat baked beans around the fire “like real cowboys,” if real cowboys were also nudists.  Posing as FBI agents, the boys had gone to the ranch with high expectations, only to realize that the sort of people who enjoyed riding horses nude were not young or attractive, and were, for the most part, other men.  Ash wished she’d been there to see the looks on their faces when they realized they weren’t exactly investigating the Playboy Dude Ranch.</p><p> <br/> An up-close and personal investigation of the cadavers hadn’t given them any clear answers as to what was killing people, but they were starting to narrow down their options.  As they’d read online, a foreign object, not quite as wide as Dean’s forearm, had been inserted into a body cavity (vagina on the women, anus on the men) and shoved all the way up to the sternum, rupturing internal organs, causing internal bleeding, and generally jumbling things about in a horrible mess.  The medical examiner said that some of the people went into shock almost immediately and wouldn’t have felt much pain, but others had been aware of what was happening, and likely suffered cardiac arrest as their bodies shut down.  Most of them had large tears at the point of entry, which indicated the girth of whatever object had done the penetration.  Dean had guessed a giant, three-foot-long dildo, and Sam hadn’t been able to come up with a better explanation. </p><p><br/> “We found these in the victims,” the examiner said, holding up a small evidence bag filled with what looked like dog hair from a yellow lab.  “They appear to have been left behind by the murder weapon—analysis hasn’t been able to identify them as human or any of the animals in our database, so we’re looking at synthetic fibers.  Or something really exotic.  Though why the killer would wrap a—wrap a large…Thing…In faux fur, is beyond me.”</p><p><br/> &lt;Really exotic,&gt; thought Sam and Dean, sharing a look.  </p><p><br/> “Another thing, though it could be nothing—their lungs are full of pollen.  There’s not much blooming at this time of year, especially not where they were in the desert, but it’s possible our perp could have brought them to…I don’t know…A greenhouse, or something.  Police are looking into it.”</p><p><br/> “Have you analyzed the pollen samples?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “Oh, that has to be done by an outside company.  Usually takes a week or so to get the results back.”</p><p><br/> Mysterious pollen and a faux fur dildo.  Even their father’s hunting journal couldn’t help them there.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Could be fairies,” Sam said that evening, when they were relaxing in their room.</p><p><br/> Dean grimaced.  He’d been abducted by fairies, and he wasn’t a fan.  “You think the pollen might be fairy dust?”</p><p><br/> “Maybe.  Don’t know why they’d be shoving a giant, hairy dildo into people, though.”  He pulled up his most recent search pages on fairy lore.  Nothing he could find indicated that fairies had ever raped humans, or otherwise shish-kabobed them with large, phallic objects.  </p><p><br/> Dean looked over a brochure for the Jefferson Nude Dude Ranch for the fifth time, wondering if he was missing a clue.  Maybe there was a monster that didn’t like naked people.  Or maybe…Maybe the horses were some sort of shifting monster?  Horses had huge dicks, didn’t they?  </p><p><br/> “We should do a trail run tomorrow,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Sam looked up from a page on ‘the magic of fairy dust’ and yawned.  “Trail run.  You mean on horses?”</p><p><br/> “We’re not getting any answers this way.  We gotta trace the victims’ steps from start to finish.”</p><p><br/> “…Okay.  But you’re not wearing the hat.”</p><p><br/> Dean clutched his cowboy hat protectively.  “Everyone wears them here.  I’d feel naked without one.”</p><p><br/> Sam sighed.  Seeing as how everyone else at the ranch &lt;was&gt; naked (except for their hats and boots), he did have a point.  “Alright.  I’ll text Ash, let her know what we’re up to.” </p><p><br/>  <br/> &lt;Going for a trail ride tomorrow,&gt; the text said.  &lt;May or may not be riding naked.  Wish us luck.&gt;</p><p><br/> Ash hadn’t heard from them since, and it was starting to worry her.  Obviously, they couldn’t have their phones on them if they didn’t have any clothes—or could they stick them in their boots, maybe?  Even nudist cowboys must wear boots, she thought; and if not, Dean would certainly keep his on.  He’d been so happy when he packed them into the Impala along with his cowboy hat; of course he’d be running around the ranch in nothing but his boots and hat.  Ash laughed at the thought, then had to spend several minutes very carefully &lt;not&gt; picturing Dean running around naked.  </p><p> “They can always pray to me if they’re in danger,” Castiel said, responding to Ash’s concern.  “They don’t need phones for that.  I’m sure they’re handling the situation.”<br/> Ash dropped the subject then, deferring to the angel’s years of experience with the Winchesters, and they continued to work on teleportation.  Castiel had abandoned the original plan of Ash just trying and popping into midair randomly, and decided to try a novel approach sort of like training wheels.  Keeping a hand on her, he was able to steer her through the process and give her a better feel for how she should be doing it herself.  By the end of the third day, she was able to port from the library to either Sam’s or Dean’s room without help, though she still had an annoying tendency to port to Crowley by accident every so often.  When she’d told him the boys were out of town, he’d hitched a ride back with her into the bunker, just because he could, and stole some of their scotch—Cas watched him like a hawk and wouldn’t let him poke around at any of the books or cursed objects they had lying around, so he pretended he wasn’t interested in them.  </p><p><br/> On the morning of Day Four, Ash texted both Sam and Dean’s cells, but got no response.  Castiel got a call through angel radio about an emergency in Heaven and had to leave, advising Ash not to go after the boys.  But when she still hadn’t heard anything by the end of the day, she decided something really &lt;was&gt; wrong, and she was going to have to rescue them.  </p><p><br/> Since porting wasn’t an exact science for her, she decided to try it as a squirrel: It was small and less likely to be noticed than a human if she popped up somewhere she shouldn’t, like the lair of whatever monster was offing people, or smack in the middle of a bunch of naked men.  She focused on Dean (fully clothed, just think of him fully clothed), and slipped through space.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> A fog began to lift from Dean’s mind.  He’d been dreaming—a magnificent, yet somehow terrifying dream, that he was in a massive orgy with a bunch of twenty-something chicks, not quite models but certainly good-looking, and all over-eager to have sex with him.  He’d come at least four times already, but somehow he was able to keep going, despite the fact that his cock was now starting to chafe and his abs were ready to tear from all the thrusting, not to mention the ache in his arms and legs.  He was balls deep in a hot redhead when the world around him stuttered and began to shift.  The walls of the bedroom melted away, replaced by large sand-colored boulders.  The king-sized bed, full of young women in their best Victoria’s Secret, turned into sand, and the women were now a bunch of middle-aged men (and one middle-aged woman thrown in for good measure).  Torchlight flickered over their bodies, probably the only light for miles in the desert night.  His body took a moment to notice the change—it was happy to continue jackhammering the redhead, after all—but he finally slowed the movement of his hips as the &lt;wrongness&gt; of the situation caught up to him.  </p><p><br/> That was when he looked down at her/him, and screamed.  </p><p><br/> “Dean?!”  Sam’s voice.  &lt;Sammy’s here?&gt;  He hadn’t seen him earlier, but then he hadn’t been interested in anything that wasn’t soft, feminine flesh.  There could have been a great big hulking dragon in the room, and he would have failed to notice it, even if it lit his ass on fire.  </p><p><br/> More pressing than helping Sam at the moment, however, was the realization of his current circumstance.  There was not, in fact, an attractive young redhead beneath him, perky tits jiggling with every movement.  What there was, was a balding middle-aged white man with saggy pecs and an impressive beer belly, and &lt;OH NO—NONONONONO&gt; Dean’s dick was in the guy’s ass &lt;THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING, TELL ME THIS PART IS FAKE AND THE HOT GIRLS ARE REAL.&gt; </p><p><br/> He scuttled back like he’d been electrocuted, stopping only when he smacked into something else—&lt;another naked body, please don’t be another naked man&gt; he thought, dread flooding into his system to replace any good, lusty feeling he’d had previously.  Not wanting to look behind himself but determined to avoid the man he’d just been balls-deep in (who still seemed to be in some sort of trance, and was now dreamily jerking himself off as if nothing was wrong), he slowly pivoted to face this new presence.</p><p> <br/> “Sam?”</p><p><br/> “Dean!” said Sam, and they both realized at once that they were a) naked, b) hard, and c) much too close to each other given ‘a’ and ‘b.’  They scooted away from each other, careful to avoid the mass of writhing bodies around them.  There had to be about a dozen people in all, and now two or three were beginning to come out of whatever spell they were under just as Sam and Dean had done.  There was a lot of cursing and screaming.  </p><p><br/> “What the hell happened?  Did I just—did &lt;you&gt; just—”</p><p><br/> “Dean, look.”  </p><p><br/> Dean really did not want to see what Sam was pointing to after what he’d already seen.  &lt;How could it possibly get worse?&gt;  He turned his head to the side and saw the dragon.</p><p><br/> She was sleek and black, almost invisible against the utter darkness of the desert.  Her scales shimmered in the light of the torches, and if he squinted just right he could see the massive, bat-like wings fanning the air above the boulders they sat beneath.  She opened her jaws and released a massive ribbon of flame, and there were tiny little screams—</p><p><br/> The fairies.  Dragon’s fire was one of the best ways to kill fairies.  </p><p><br/> As more of them burned and their power faded with them, Dean found he could think clearer.  They had been on the trail ride, and he hadn’t fallen off his horse once, which he was quite proud of. They’d decided to wear their Fed suits, as opposed to riding naked: Though it made the other riders more nervous riding with a couple of ‘agents,’ there was just no good way to carry weapons if they’d gone nude.  Dean had extra lighters in addition to his gun and knives, since fairies were highly flammable.  Sam had tried to fit a small flamethrower onto his person, but it wasn’t happening, so he settled for a welding torch in a satchel.  </p><p><br/> The group halted at a scenic overlook for a picnic lunch, and a few of the tourists started chatting about a play they had just seen.  </p><p><br/> “It’s a modern adaptation of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’” one of them explained to their guide.  “Very good production.  Puck was the highlight of the show.”</p><p><br/> Sam had pulled Dean away from the group as a thought suddenly occurred to him.  “Satyrs,” he said.</p><p><br/> Dean gave him a blank look.</p><p><br/> “’Midsummer Night’s Dream.’  They’re fairies, and Puck is a satyr—anyway.  Satyrs are these…Human-goat hybrids.  They’re known for being really horny.  Old texts have theorized that they used fairy magic to seduce humans and lure them into huge orgies.”</p><p><br/> “…And then they shove massive, hairy dildos into them?”</p><p><br/> “Well, satyrs are supposed to be very well-endowed.  If that’s the case—”</p><p><br/> “’Well-endowed?!’  Those people were ripped open!”</p><p><br/>“I don’t hear you coming up with any theories!”</p><p><br/> They’d gotten back on the trail and just hit the edge of the ranch’s land when the fairies hit them.  There were hundreds of them, swarming all around, and they’d barely had time to realize what was happening before their spell hit and each human slid gently off his horse.  </p><p><br/> And now they were here.  And he &lt;hadn’t&gt; just had sex with a lot of hot young women, he’d just…&lt;No, don’t think about it&gt;…Had sex with a lot of droopy, middle-aged men whose idea of physical fitness was walking into the McDonald’s instead of using the drive-thru.  Dean had nothing against gay people, but he was quite certain that he wasn’t one, and the thought of his dick being in nasty, hairy man-ass made him want to set his own penis on fire.  Another, even more dreadful thought occurred to him, and he shifted again, realizing his &lt;own&gt; ass was sore, which meant &lt;don’t think about it, Christ don’t think about it until you’re out of here and alive&gt;, he pleaded with himself.</p><p><br/> More people were coming out of the spell, and now everyone was freaking out.  Men were punching each other, thinking they’d been drugged and raped, or sitting and rocking slowly, in shock and unable to comprehend that the happy orgy they’d thought they were in, was anything but.  Sam scooted out of the way as the one woman in the group ran past hysterically, accidentally bumping into Dean again.  He jerked back quickly.  </p><p><br/> “We need to get out of here,” Sam said stiffly.  “We need to get everyone out of here before—"</p><p><br/> As if on cue, a large figure emerged in the torchlight, across from where the dragon perched.  It had to be at least seven feet tall, with the horns of a goat, head, arms, and torso of a human, legs of…Well, it sure as hell didn’t look like any goat Dean had ever seen, but there were certainly hooves where the feet should be.  As he stepped into the ring of boulders, another feature became difficult to ignore: It extended from his groin like a terrible third leg, and if it wasn’t three feet then it was close enough.  Sam wasn’t kidding about them being well-endowed.  At least they’d figured out what the murder weapon was.</p><p><br/> “Holy shit,” Dean hissed.  He was completely naked, his clothes and even his boots gone who-knows-where.  His phone was gone, as were all of his weapons.  Instinctively, he shuffled in front of Sam, getting between his brother and the satyr.  But then a movement behind him caught his attention, and he realized there was a second one, and off to the side a third, and all he could think was, &lt;well, we’re boned.  Literally.&gt; </p><p><br/> The dragon roared and its wings flapped, hard enough to knock anyone standing off their feet, but the satyrs stood their ground.  And Dean’s brain finally clicked the last piece he was missing into place: &lt;Ash.  The dragon is Ash&gt;.  Of course it was—like there were other dragons running around America!  He wondered if she’d ported to them, or if Cas had brought her, but he hadn’t seen the angel yet.  &lt;Aaaand…She’s seen you naked now, so that’s awkward&gt;.  He automatically clapped his hands over his junk, though he realized it was a little late for that.  &lt;Oh noooo…She fought the fairies off, which means she saw you with at least one of those men…Might as well have the satyr finish me off now, there’s no way this could get any more humiliating.&gt;</p><p><br/> Ash launched herself into the air and shifted, landing beside two men who were trying to choke each other out.  As a human with the strength of a shifter, she ripped them off each other and flung them apart.  </p><p><br/> “How do I kill them?” she shouted without looking at Sam or Dean, her eyes fixed on the satyr closest to her.  </p><p><br/> Dean choked on a breath of air and launched into a coughing fit.  &lt;Get the hell out of here&gt;, he wanted to yell at her.  &lt;You’re a hot naked chick surrounded by horny old naked men&gt;.  Also, it was hard to think straight when she was just yards away from him, and they were both naked, and he’d just been hexed into thinking he was having a six-way—he shook his head, trying to clear it.</p><p><br/> “…I don’t know,” Sam said, his voice sounding hoarse.  The little he knew about satyrs didn’t include their vulnerabilities.  “In theory, they should die just like anything, but their hide is super thick.  You’ll need something really sharp.”  He scrambled to his feet, also keeping his hands over his junk, and Dean saw the wince—Sam had taken it up the ass, too.  Somehow that, more than any of the other messed-up orgy shit, was the worst part of all of this.  Because Dean knew he was a horrible person, knew he probably deserved whatever shit had been dealt to him, but Sammy didn’t—he was supposed to protect his brother, and he hadn’t even been able to keep his brother’s ass safe from upper-middle-class white man dick.  </p><p><br/> Ash turned her head, but not her body, and Dean’s heart almost stopped when he saw the bright blue glow of her eyes.  “Do you have any weapons on you?”</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head, almost as uncomfortable as Dean now that she was looking at him.  But her eyes never dipped below his face; she was being incredibly polite, he thought.  “I don’t know where our stuff is.”  He had a sinking feeling that he could see one of his sleeves flapping in one of the small perimeter fires.</p><p><br/> As the first satyr approached, Ash threw her hands up, and the creature was blown backwards to smash into a boulder.  She turned to face the other two and repeated the action: They flew back, but were quick to get back up again.  </p><p><br/> “Can—Are you okay to fight?” Ash asked.</p><p><br/> “…Yes…” Dean said, acutely aware of something sticky drying all along his ass-crack and down his leg.  He hoped it was just blood.  He wasn’t sure how much use he and Sam would be in a fight right now.</p><p><br/> The torches flickered, and something in Ash’s voice changed.  “Right.  If you’re not a Winchester…GET OUT.”  Her words echoed in the minds of the humans, bypassing all thought processes and pushing straight to action.  A dozen tourists and guides got to their feet and made a break for a break in the boulders; as the satyrs ran to intercept them, Ash pushed out with her power again and held them back.  Her feet began to slide back across the sand, and the boys realized she was losing her grip; the satyrs snarled and howled, speaking in a language that Sam recognized as a fairy dialect.  Little lights appeared from across the desert, like swarms of fireflies, as more fairies approached.</p><p><br/> “I can try to get you a weapon,” Ash said, stepping back toward the brothers.  “If you can find a rock, you can break a fang out of my mouth as a dragon.”  She grunted as one of the satyrs sprang forward and she had to shove him back into line.  </p><p><br/> Outside the ring of torches, the other humans began to drop as the fairies worked their magic on them.  It didn’t take long for Sam and Dean to both find fist-sized rocks in the sand.  </p><p><br/> “I have to let them go to shift, so you’ll have to move fast.”</p><p><br/>She released her hold on the satyrs as the boys ran toward her, shifting back into a dragon and laid her head down on the sand, jaws open.</p><p><br/> Sam reached her first, skidding to a halt in the sand.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, wondering how painful it would be, and brought his rock down on one of her fangs.  It didn’t even crack.</p><p><br/> She snorted impatiently.  He pressed his left hand into her head for stability, and raised the rock again.   He brought the stone down again, and again, like a blacksmith, and finally the tooth cracked at the base.  One more hit and it broke off completely; and just in time, because two of the satyrs had caught up to them.  </p><p><br/> Dean punched one in the face, which didn’t do much except hurt his hand.  Sam slashed at the thing with the tooth and it stepped back, though it looked more amused than frightened.  Ash raised her head, blood dripping from the broken-off tooth, and turned to fight.  Dean was still unarmed (except for his rock), but if he took the time to break a tooth off of her now, they’d both be vulnerable to an attack.  The dragon swept its tail back and spread its wings, accidentally smacking Sam and knocking him onto his bare ass.  A satyr pulled a knife from…Where the hell did the knife come from?  Hidden by the fur on its legs, it wore a belt with a pouch.  The creature shouted something in fairy-language, and as the fairies swarmed toward Sam and Dean, it lunged for Ash.</p><p><br/> Fairies and fairy dust obscured her vision.  She shook her head and flapped her wings to blow them back, and the satyr took the opportunity to stab her in the chest.  Ash felt the burn of silver and roared in pain, swatting at the satyr and throwing him onto his side.  The blade remained stuck in her thick hide, and the way it was wedged it was impossible for her to pull it out with her teeth or rake it out with her claws.  The burn from the silver radiated outward and inward, making her chest feel stiff and her lungs heavy, like they were filling with concrete.  </p><p><br/> Ash breathed fire at the satyr that had attacked her, setting his furry legs alight.  He screamed and rolled in an effort to extinguish himself: She leapt forward, pinning him, and clamped her jaws around his throat.  </p><p><br/> A second satyr landed on her back, hooves scrambling for purchase, and drove another silver dagger through the scales along her spine.  She reared back in pain, releasing her prey, and bucked the newcomer off.  He released his grip on the blade, leaving it to burn through her back as he was flung across the sand.  </p><p><br/> Sam and Dean dropped to the ground, lulled to sleep by the fairy dust.  Ash rallied as the third satyr approached, also wielding a silver knife.  She breathed fire at the fairies, burning them along with their magic dust, and ran to nudge the boys awake.  A few errant sparks caught Sam’s hair on fire, and she had to smash his head into the sand with her massive paw to put it out.  </p><p><br/> “Aargh,” Sam groaned.  “Wha’s happening?”</p><p><br/> Ash roared and crouched down in preparation to pounce on the third satyr.  As she tried to leap, however, her joints spasmed and locked.  &lt;Silver poisoning,&gt; she growled to herself.  She staggered to her feet just as the satyr reached her, pulling her head back before he could slice her long neck.  </p><p><br/> Dean was on his feet first.  He got a running start and slammed into Ash’s attacker, but it was like running into a wall.  The satyr was a lot more solid than he’d anticipated, and remained standing as Dean bounced off of him, a little dazed.  </p><p><br/> “Humans,” it chuckled.  “You’re cute when you try.”</p><p><br/> Sam tossed his brother the broken, bloody tooth, and Dean held it like a dagger, circling the satyr and watching for an opening.  He tried not to look at the creature’s ‘third leg,’ the monstrous, hairy appendage that had been impaling its human victims.  He tried not to think about the medical impossibility of that thing going up his ass.</p><p><br/> The other two satyrs were back on their feet, and so was Sam.  Only the one satyr and Dean had weapons now, but the satyrs had the advantage of strength.  They also had the advantage of fairies, though Ash was working to ensure they remained at bay.  </p><p><br/> Sam found himself backed against the dragon’s side as the two satyrs drew closer.  He wondered if he would be able to climb onto her back.  Dean slashed ineffectively at his own satyr, trying to force it toward the dragon’s front.  It chuckled and danced around, taunting him, but gradually moved closer to her.</p><p><br/> Ash took her shot, clamping down on the back of its neck as soon as it was in biting range.  It shrieked and flailed with its knife, but she held it tight.  Its hide was deceptively thick: It took all her strength to bite through the skin and begin to crush the muscle and bones.  In a last-ditch effort at survival, the satyr swung its knife up and stabbed her in the snout: She screeched in surprise and pain, biting harder until she finally severed the spine.  It gurgled one final protest, and went limp.</p><p> </p><p> The other satyrs howled in rage and started shouting at the surviving fairies.  Like a swarm of bees defending their hive, the fairies regrouped and attacked Ash as a single unit, covering her in sticky golden dust.  As the fairies focused on the dragon, the satyrs turned their attention back to the two humans.  The one nearest Sam was weaponless, but still so much stronger than he looked.  A well-timed kick with his goat-leg hit Sam in the gut and sent him sprawling.  </p><p><br/> Dean saw his brother fall out of the corner of his eye.  He started to run toward him to help him, but the second satyr caught him, tackling him with the force of a 350-pound linebacker.  Dean went down hard, his skull narrowly missing a small rock, but he held onto the dragon tooth.  The satyr brought its dagger up to strike, and Dean countered with the tooth, slicing its shoulder.  It cursed and dropped its weapon:  Dean grabbed the dagger, getting a solid stab into its collarbone before it punched him in the face and sprang away from him.  Head throbbing, Dean rolled onto his side and started to get to his feet, and the monster kicked him in the shoulder, dislocating it.  Now it was Dean’s turn to curse and drop the knife.</p><p><br/> Sam curled into a ball as his satyr landed another kick to his torso.  It felt like the thing was going to kick his guts up his chest and out his throat.  It pulled its leg back for one more powerful kick, and he tucked his head into his arms protectively.  Instead of the kick he was bracing for, he felt intense heat: Dragon fire flared over his head, and embers settled onto his skin, burning briefly before going out.  The satyr retreated and rolled on the sand, trying to extinguish himself.  </p><p><br/> Sam scrambled to his feet, patting his hair to make sure it wasn’t on fire, and ran toward Ash.  She was spouting fire erratically, trying to fend of the fairies that hovered around her head, but she was no more effective than a human trying to swat a bothersome fly.  Sam ducked his head as a blast of fire came too close for comfort, remaining hunched as he maneuvered under her long neck to grasp the handle of the knife that was embedded in her chest.  </p><p><br/> “Sorry Ash, this is going to hurt,” he said, and pulled.</p><p><br/> Ash roared.  Blood gushed out from the wound, hot and dark and sticky, splashing across Sam’s chest and face.  The dragon spun, knocking him aside with her flank and using her tail to sweep his legs out from under him.  She twisted back around and he had to roll out of the way as her jaws snapped at the space he had just occupied.</p><p><br/> “Whoa, it’s okay!  It’s me!”</p><p><br/> The satyr he’d been fighting chuckled.  “She can’t see you right now.”</p><p> <br/> Ash snarled and tried to bite him again, and again he scrambled away.  Dean’s attacker paused for a moment to laugh as well.  </p><p><br/> “She’s in fairy-land now,” he giggled.  “You two look like a couple of satyrs to her.”</p><p><br/> “And we look like you!” his companion added.  </p><p><br/> “You ruined our orgy,” Dean’s satyr said, all signs of mirth gone.  “We work hard to put these things together.”  He grabbed Dean’s located shoulder and yanked, like he was trying to pull a drumstick off a turkey.  Dean screamed as muscle and tendons were torn apart.</p><p><br/> Sam dodged another bite from the dragon and felt fire wash across his back.  It felt like getting a bad sunburn all at once, but the smell of burnt flesh indicated that things were a bit worse than that.  Running in the sand, barefoot, was hard enough, and his legs had been sore and tired to begin with.  He wouldn’t have been able to outrun a dragon on a good day, and today was not a good day.  Switching tactics, he turned and ran for his brother.</p><p><br/> “Behind you!” the other satyr shouted in warning, but Dean’s satyr was too preoccupied with destroying Dean to react in time.  Sam came up behind him and drove the knife into his back with all the force he could muster, driving it down to the hilt to pierce through the satyr’s heart.  It shrieked and gagged, then flopped onto Dean, lifeless.  </p><p><br/> Ash screeched and lumbered toward them, silver poisoning making her legs slow and clumsy.  She spread her wings to steady herself, flapping to propel herself forward.  All the fire she’d spewed, plus the gust of wind from her wings, was enough to finally dissipate the cloud of fairy dust around her head, and her vision began to clear.  What had been Sam and Dean were now satyrs (thank Hell, since she’d just witnessed Sam being stabbed in the back), and the satyrs were now Sam and Dean (and she’d just barbequed Sam—oops).  The final satyr leapt on Sam just as Dean was trying to shove the fresh corpse off of himself, and Sam found himself thrown onto his back once more, burnt skin skidding across rough sand.  The satyr snarled, furious at the death of his companions and the destruction of his orgy.  He brought his hoof up, aiming to kick Sam in the head.</p><p><br/> He was surprised to find himself thrown backward and pinned to the ground.  Ash snarled and panted with effort as she held him down with her power.  Dean hauled himself to his feet, searching for a weapon: Sam tossed him the satyr’s own knife, and he wasted no time in stabbing the creature through the heart.</p><p> <br/> With the enemy defeated, all the fight went out of the hunters and exhaustion overwhelmed them.  Both sat down on the sand, just trying to catch their breath and take stock of their situation.</p><p><br/> The situation was not great.  The satyrs were dead, which was a definite positive, but that was about the only positive.  Every muscle ached, overworked after hours spent in a fairy-induced orgy prior to fighting three stupidly strong monsters.  Their asses were sore, from…Best not to think about that.  Sore and bleeding, with dried blood caked down the backs of their legs.  Sam’s stomach was a patchwork of black and blue hoof-prints, and he was fairly confident he had sustained internal injuries.  Dean’s shoulder was throbbing, and his right arm was basically useless until he could pop things back into place.  He had a few large cuts and bruises, as did Sam, and of course Sam was burned all down his back.  </p><p><br/> And they were naked in the middle of the desert.  At night.  Now that there was nothing to fight, they were starting to get cold.  </p><p><br/> Cold didn’t have to be a problem for long, though.  Ash grabbed a few torches that were lighting the perimeter of the orgy zone and threw them in a pile, adding more dragon fire to create a sizeable blaze.  </p><p><br/> “What now?” Dean asked, scooting closer to the fire.</p><p><br/> “We gotta get back to town,” Sam said.  “Those people are still out here—we should contact the police so they can rescue them.”</p><p><br/> As if on cue, the voices of the other victims floated across the night air toward them.  People shouted “Hello!” and “Help!” and “Please help me!”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed and shivered.  “Right.  Okay.  If you set my shoulder, I’ll walk back and get Baby.  Then we can call the cops.  My phone was…In my suit…”  He had no idea what the satyrs had done with their clothes, but he had a sinking feeling that everything had been set on fire.  He glanced over at his brother, and in the flickering light of the fire he could tell he was in bad shape: His whole torso was bruised with hoof-prints, and there was something wrong with the skin on his back.  It looked like it was starting to bubble and flake, like he’d been badly burned.  His chest was covered in blood, though Dean was fairly certain it wasn’t his own: The streaks of blood that ran down his legs, however, probably were his.  </p><p><br/> Sam dragged himself over to Dean and wrestled his shoulder back into place.  “I’ll talk to the others.  Try to keep everyone calm until you can get the police here.  And paramedics,” he added, thinking of the internal (and possibly external) injuries they were all likely to have sustained.  “Ash, can you shift into a horse?”</p><p><br/> The dragon snorted and rolled onto her side, showing off the knife that was still stuck in her back.  </p><p><br/> “…Ah.  Okay, don’t move.  This is going to suck…”</p><p><br/> Sam pressed his foot into her back to brace himself and grabbed the knife’s handle.  It had been wedged firmly next to her spine and was now locked in the pattern of her scales.  It wouldn’t pull straight out, so he had to wiggle it back and forth, aggravating the wound, until it finally came free.  With nothing to staunch the flow of blood, it began pouring freely from her, spilling out like lava from a crack in the Earth’s crust.  </p><p><br/> Ash roared in pain, but the relief that followed was worth it.  Without the silver inside her, she was able to shift, shrinking down into the more manageable size of a horse.  <br/> Before the process was complete, though, she felt her body seize up.  She was the right size and shape for a horse, but she was still covered in dragon scales, and her tail was still made of flesh and bone and not hair.  Sam and Dean stared at her, unable to offer any sort of assistance, while their brains decided if the thing in front of them was kind of awesome in its own way, or just the stuff of nightmares.  Ash snorted and fell onto her side, feeling disoriented and no longer sure of which animal she should be trying to emulate.  She focused again on the horse, and had the sensation that all of her cells were straining with effort and ready to burst like overworked muscles.  Mercifully, she finally won them over, and completed the change to a horse.  She staggered to her hooves and shook herself off, aware that the injuries on her back and chest were still very much present and bleeding.</p><p><br/> Dean looked at the horse, and wondered if he’d be better off walking on his own.  He’d done much better on this trip, but he’d had reins and a saddle, not to mention clothes.  Now he’d have to ride bareback again, and he was buck naked, he’d be &lt;buck naked riding Ash,&gt; and technically that meant they were &lt;both&gt; naked, and he’d already gotten into trouble just for kissing her.  Also, his ass was already hurting: Riding was only going to make it a thousand times worse.  He could ask Sam to go, but Sam looked even more exhausted and beat up than he was.  He may have failed to protect his little brother from a satyr orgy, but at least he could protect him from having to ride naked and bareback across the desert.  </p><p><br/> “You sure you’re okay to do this?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “Fine,” Dean replied, approaching the horse.  He touched her shoulder, and felt her shaking.  “Ash?  Are &lt;you&gt; okay to do this?”</p><p><br/> The horse whinnied and nodded, but he could see from the way she shifted her hooves that she was bracing herself to remain upright.  If she fell in the middle of the desert and Dean was riding her, she could crush him.  Except…There was no saddle for him to get stuck in, so he’d probably just roll off anyway.  He’d dealt with worse things.  Just not normally while he was naked.</p><p><br/> How was he supposed to mount her, anyway?  &lt;Oh God, don’t think ‘mount’ when you’re naked, just don’t…&gt;He could sort of grab her mane, but without any stirrups he’d have to rely on just his upper body strength to pull himself up, and he didn’t have much of that left.  He could ask Sam to give him a boost, but he really didn’t want another human touching him right now, not even his brother (especially since he didn’t know for sure whether or not he and Sam had…Let’s just say, ‘been at the same sorority party’).  He settled for finding a suitable rock as a makeshift stepping stool, and with all the grace of a beached whale he managed to get himself onto her back.</p><p><br/> Ash’s back was hot and sticky with blood.  It immediately coated his thighs and butt, adding to the cringe factor of the whole ordeal.  Best to get things over with as quickly as possible, he thought, and grabbed her mane firmly.</p><p> <br/> “Okay.  Let’s go.”</p><p><br/>  Riding bareback was an experience.  He could feel his balls beginning to stick to her blood-soaked fur, and tried to adjust the way he was sitting, but that put more pressure on his butt, which was not in good shape to begin with.  The trick was to ride without either part of him touching her, which might have been possible if his thighs weren’t also knackered.</p><p><br/> Ash whinnied and pulled her head forward, and Dean realized she was asking if they could go faster.  “Uh, yeah.  Sure.”  Get it over with as quickly as possible, right?<br/> She broke into a canter, and after a brief moment feeling like he was going to bounce off of her he was able to sit back into the movement, and he was riding a horse like a real (naked) cowboy.  They sped across the desert, the lights of the town growing bigger and brighter, and for a moment he allowed himself to forget about the horrible ass-raping orgy and how Sam was hurt and how things were still weird with Ash and getting weirder.  He was just a guy on a horse, galloping (well, cantering) through the desert on a clear night, with the wind in his hair.  The wind was in his everything, actually, and it was getting to be quite nippy.</p><p><br/> The feeling faded as they neared the town: Dean had to focus on helping Sammy.  He directed Ash back to the ranch and grabbed everything out of their room, because there was no way they were spending another day at the ranch, and finally—&lt;finally&gt;—threw on boxers, jeans, a t-shirt and a flannel, and felt like an entirely new person.  He hadn’t realized just how vulnerable he’d felt without clothes until he was wearing them again, but it made a world of difference.  He needed that barrier between him and the outside world.  Spartans might have run into battle naked, but they were also trained warriors and had swords and shields.  He was a hunter in cowboy boots, and he was never going to another nudist ranch again, not even if the Playboy Bunnies were staying there (okay, so maybe he would go for the Playboy Bunnies, but only if there were definitely no satyrs, succubuses, or werepires in attendance).  He called his contact at the police department and let them know where the survivors were, and packed up the Impala.  </p><p><br/> Ash stood beside the car, her legs shaking as she struggled to support her own weight.  </p><p><br/> “I could use your help getting back to Sam,” Dean admitted.  “I wasn’t really paying attention on the way here.”  He was too preoccupied with trying not to fall off the horse.  His legs felt like Jell-O, and his ass felt like it was going to split all the way up his back.  “Can you shift again?”  He grabbed one of her dresses, holding it up as a sort of suggestion and plea in one.  </p><p><br/> She snorted and pawed the ground, tossing her head.  Her eyes flashed brightly and her skin rippled like the wind blowing across a pond.  Her legs buckled and bent, and she sank to the ground: She started to change, but the process was slower than it should have been, and just as she had when going from dragon to horse, there was a terrifying moment where she became stuck halfway between horse and human.  Her skeleton remained enlarged, part horse, while her skin and muscles shrank to those of a human, creating a nightmarish creature reminiscent of something out of ‘Silent Hill.’  With a final push, Ash became completely human.  The wounds on her back and chest reopened as if they were brand new, dripping blood onto the pavement.  She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and held her hand out: Dean tossed her the dress, and it took her a minute to wrestle it over her head.  Dean tried to help her to her feet, but he nearly fell over himself, having used the last of his legs’ strength cantering back to civilization.  They stumbled into the car like they were completely shit-faced, and Dean pointed himself in the general direction of the desert.  </p><p><br/> The drive was mostly silent, neither one of them ready to talk about what had just happened.  Ash gave occasional directions: “Go right around those rocks,” or “Stay to the left of the big cactus.”  There were a few spots that a car probably shouldn’t have driven through, and there was a bit of backtracking to find a better path.  Eventually, the light of a fire appeared in the distance, and Dean sped up, anxious to get Sam and get the Hell out of town.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Sam had built up the fire as much as he could and gathered everyone around it.  The other victims were all in various stages of shock, their brains unable to accept and comprehend that supernatural beings had just drugged them into partaking in an orgy.  In addition to injuries of a &lt;personal&gt; nature, caused by lack of prep and lube, many of them had cuts and bruises from being stepped on/climbed over/dragged around, and the cold air wasn’t doing them any favors.  </p><p><br/> Dean pulled up to the group and almost fell down getting out of the car.  He had to grab onto the roof to pull himself back up, and he leaned heavily on the doors as he made his way around to the back to grab Sam’s clothes for him.  </p><p><br/> “The police and paramedics will be here any minute,” he told the crowd.  “I sto—borrowed some blankets from the ranch.  It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”  Dean pulled the sheets and blankets out of the back seat and passed them to Sam, who passed them out to the others.  Ash crawled into the back so that Sam could sit up front, and they left the desert behind them just as sirens started to sound in the distance.  Dean turned off his lights as the emergency vehicles approached, not wanting to deal with anyone else.  They’d done their job, saved the humans.  There was no way any of them was going to go over, in detail, exactly what had happened, and no one had the energy to come up with a viable lie at this point.  </p><p><br/>Dean knew he wasn’t going to make it back to the bunker tonight, but he sure as Hell wanted to get out of Texas. He just had to stay awake a little longer: Sam and Ash passed out as soon as he hit the main road, so he was on his own.  &lt;Just get out of Texas&gt;, Dean told himself.  &lt;Just get to Oklahoma and you can sleep&gt;.  He shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of the soreness in and around his ass now that he was clothed and seated.  &lt;Goddamn fairies and satyrs.&gt;</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash woke as the engine shut off.  Sam raised his head as well.</p><p><br/> “Hold tight,” Dean ordered.  “I’ll get us a room.”  </p><p><br/> The three of them lurched and staggered their way to the chosen room, thankfully located on the first floor.  Sam sat down heavily on one of the beds, pulling his shirt up to check on the angry-looking welts left on his stomach.  Ash went to sit down on the other bed, missed, and slid onto the floor.  Her dress was sticky where blood had soaked through it, and she didn’t want to get blood on the bed, so she stayed where she’d landed on the carpet.</p><p><br/> “Shower,” Dean grunted, disappearing into the bathroom.  </p><p><br/> Sam dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees.  “Ugh.  Feel like I’m gonna puke.”  He grabbed a trashcan from between the two beds and held it in his hands.  Any idea where we are?”</p><p><br/> Ash spotted some stationary on the nightstand.  “Sulphur, Oklahoma.”</p><p><br/> “Sulphur?”  He smiled.  “Huh.  Wonder if they get many demons.”  He grimaced and wrapped one arm around his stomach, then let out a loud burp.  He leaned forward, snatching up the waste basket and upchucking into it.  Ash felt her own stomach twist, and scooted away from him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean took longer than usual in the shower.  His skin and hair were covered in a fine layer of desert sand that clung to his pores.  His groin was an unholy mess, pubic hair matted with blood and semen.  He tried not to think about the little flecks of shit that were undoubtedly there as well, because no one under the fairies’ spell would have thought to clear out their system ahead of time.  There was even blood trapped under his foreskin, which was no treat to clean, especially knowing that it wasn’t his own blood.  &lt;We’re gonna have to get tested&gt;, he thought, suddenly feeling ill.  How long had it been since he’d needed to be checked for STD’s?  He’d been pretty smart over the last ten or so years, though half of the reason he always used condoms was that he knew chicks could get pregnant even on birth control, and there was no way he was dealing with &lt;that&gt; mess.  Even Blackout-Drunk Dean seemed to know to wrap it up by now.  So he was really dreading going to the clinic, &lt;with his little brother&gt;, to find out if any of the WASP-y wanna-be cowboys had left him with any unwanted souvenirs.  </p><p><br/> He reached behind him to gently wash what was &lt;don’t think about it, Dean&gt; his own blood and someone else’s semen from his ass.  He was going to be sore for days, and he didn’t want to think about how painful it would be to take a shit with his insides scarred and inflamed.  Maybe he should avoid any high-fiber foods for a while—no fruits, veggies or whole grains, for starters, and Sam would bitch at him about it but he’d rather have Sam worried about his diet than start bleeding out his asshole again.  <br/> He finally stepped out of the shower and changed into fresh underwear and his pajama pants, discarding the bloody pair as a lost cause.  Coming out of the bathroom, he discovered Sam hunkered on the floor at the foot of his bed, clutching a trash can to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world, dry-heaving, coughing, and occasionally retching into it.  Ash looked pale and was trying to block out the smell and sound, without much success.</p><p><br/>  Once Sam had thrown up everything he could, it was time for him to wash away &lt;his&gt; disgusting crust of sand, blood, semen, and shit.  In the middle of his shower, Dean heard him curse: </p><p><br/> “Ow!  Jesus!”</p><p><br/> Dean turned his head toward the bathroom door.  “You alright?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I just…There was something stuck…Somewhere,” Sam said vaguely, and Dean didn’t need to ask him what he was talking about, because he’d just been there.  When Sam spoke next, his voice was shaky and full of trepidation.  “Hey Dean?  You don’t think we…You know, with each other?  We’d—We’d know, even in that dream state, right?”</p><p><br/> Dean had been trying very hard not to wonder that himself; of course Sammy had to go and say it out loud.  He shook his head vigorously, like he could dislodge the thought if he tried hard enough.  “Definitely not.  We…We woulda woken up, or something.  I woulda realized it was you.”</p><p><br/> “Right.  Right.  Yeah.  Of course.”</p><p><br/> “You didn’t see us…Together…Right?” he asked Ash, suddenly feeling nauseous himself.</p><p><br/> Ash shook her head.  “No.  I don’t know how long you were under their spell before I got there, but…”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Right.  Okay.”  He rubbed a sore spot on the back of his neck, feeling sand under his fingers.  How was there still sand on him, even after showering?  “Definitely didn’t,” he muttered, trying to emphasize the fact for himself.  In an effort to take his mind of possible orgy-induced incest, he turned his attention to Ash.  “We should get you patched up.  Kit’s in my bag, if you can reach it.”</p><p><br/> It took her a moment to push herself away from the bed and grab Dean’s bag.  She brought the whole thing over, and Dean sifted through it for something relatively clean she could sleep in.  The dress she was currently wearing was already soaked in blood.</p><p><br/> Dean sniff-tested his spare pair of boxers before handing them over.  He didn’t always bring extra, but Sam had started to whine about the smell, so he’d taken to throwing a couple of backups in his bag when he knew they’d be away from the bunker for a while.  He also procured a t-shirt that he’d only worn once, with the armpits smelling more like his deodorant than B-O.  Ash slipped the boxers on, but she wouldn’t be able to wear the shirt until he’d bandaged her wounds.  </p><p><br/> “Here.  Hold it like this,” Dean said, holding the shirt sideways against his chest to demonstrate.  It would cover her breasts while allowing him access to the deep cuts on her back and chest.  </p><p><br/> The dress didn’t want to come off.  The blood had dried along her back, and Dean had to rip it off like an extra-long band-aid, which triggered more bleeding.  Ash covered her front half with his shirt and turned so that he could work on her back first.  He thought about doing stitches for a second, but didn’t think his hands were steady enough for that right now.  He could just slap a bunch of gauze over the wound and hope she healed as fast as she usually did.  </p><p><br/> Sam emerged from the bathroom and dug into the med kit, grabbing ibuprofen and a bottle of aloe vera gel.  </p><p><br/>“I’m so sorry,” Ash said, rubbing aloe on his back while Dean taped up hers.  “I thought you were a satyr.  The fairies…”</p><p><br/>“It’s okay,” Sam said.  “It wasn’t your fault.”  </p><p><br/>She still felt guilty about it.  His skin had bubbled and blistered from the burn, and there were scratches from getting thrown across the sand.  The color ranged from an angry red to deep purple, with the occasional lesion in the skin leaking a milky fluid.  And despite a quick rinse in the shower, there was still sand wedged anywhere it would fit.<br/>Sam collapsed face-down on his bed, letting the aloe dry on his back.  “TV?” he asked, turning his head to the side to look at his brother.</p><p><br/> Dean nodded and passed the remote to Ash.  She searched for the Discovery Channel, which was usually a safe bet: Tonight, it was showing “Naked and Afraid.”  She clicked away as soon as she realized what it was: The premise hit a little too close to home for the boys.  She tried Food Network, which was showing an old episode of “Iron Chef: America.”  It was just starting.</p><p><br/> “Allez cuisine!” Dean shouted automatically along with the host.  </p><p><br/>The secret ingredient was hot peppers: The chefs could use anything from jalapenos to Carolina Reapers.  Sam turned around to watch, his head now at the foot of the bed.  <br/> “Turn,” Dean said.  </p><p><br/> Ash rotated to face him, and he began the process of bandaging her chest.  He could see the white of her sternum through the cut, and thought again about stitches, but he was so tired that his hands were shaking.  He knew Sam wouldn’t be any better.  He tried to use the tape to pull the skin together over the bone, but every time she breathed it stretched a little bit.  </p><p><br/> “It’s not perfect, but…”</p><p><br/> “It’s fine.  Thank you.”  Ash put on her borrowed shirt and helped pack the first aid supplies back into Dean’s bag, setting everything on the floor between the two beds.  <br/> Dean wiped the blood off his hands on a towel, too tired to get up and wash them in the bathroom.  It was only Ash’s blood, anyway: After all the…Bodily fluids he’d had on himself today, hers didn’t even register as ‘unclean.’  </p><p><br/> So many bodily fluids…He climbed under the covers, their weight and warmth like a protective barrier between himself and reality.</p><p> <br/> Ash glanced over at Sam, then at Dean.  She didn’t want to bother either of them: After the night they’d had, she doubted they would want another human sleeping next to them.  She could probably sleep on the carpet, maybe prop her head up on Dean’s bag.  Or she could go sleep in the car.</p><p><br/> “You okay?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “Um.”</p><p><br/> He patted the pillow next to him.  “Come on; lie down before you fall down.”  When Ash hesitated, he added: “Or you can stay with Sam, if…You’d be more comfortable…”</p><p><br/> Ash looked at Sam again.  He was doing a strong impression of a rotting corpse, his eyes slightly glazed over as he watched the TV, his back dark and oozing.  No, she didn’t want to bother Sam.  She slid into place next to Dean, moving carefully to minimize the amount of pulling on her wounds.  Gingerly, she pressed her back against his chest.  <br/> Dean wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.  The last time he’d cuddled with her, she’d been a dog, and though they had ‘spooned’ as two humans, that was before he’d kissed her and made things weird (okay, &lt;more&gt; weird).  He tried tucking his arm in between his chest and her back, but that felt like he was trying to push her away.  He tried just leaving his arm at his side, but that was awkward, too.  Eventually, he settled for their typical setup, draping his arm over her waist.  </p><p><br/> “Is this okay?” he asked.</p><p><br/> That was an odd question, she thought.  His arm wasn’t anywhere near her injuries.  She nodded.</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Sam fell asleep fairly easily, in spite of the pain on his back and his torso and his ass and…Well, there was a growing list.  Dean should have been dead to the world as well after the day he’d had, but every time he was just about to doze off, his brain would &lt;think&gt; at him and wake him up.  &lt;You had your dick up some asses today&gt;, it reminded him.  He rolled over and his asshole throbbed, sore and raw; &lt;someone had their dick up your ass, too.&gt;  </p><p><br/> He wondered if he could hit himself hard enough in the head to forget about the satyr orgy.  What did Ash think about the whole thing?  She’d certainly been helpful—if she hadn’t arrived when she did, Dean shuddered to think of the position he’d be in now—and she hadn’t acted all that disgusted by anything.  She’d let Dean ride her back to town, naked and covered in bodily fluids, so she wasn’t &lt;repulsed&gt; by him, and now she was cuddled up to him…Or was that just one of those things she did because it was necessary, no matter how she felt about it?  </p><p><br/> He wondered if he should ask Cas to heal everyone.  He hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Ash about it, but if she had ported to them by herself then Cas must be dealing with something urgent upstairs.  Of course, if they called Cas for help, he’d know about &lt;all&gt; their injuries, and he’d ask perfectly innocent questions about things Dean really didn’t want to relive in detail.  So maybe they should just let Cas do his thing, and they’d catch up with him eventually.</p><p><br/> Ash twitched in her sleep.  Was she dealing with Lucifer again?  Maybe he should try to wake her up.  Or maybe she was having a perfectly normal dream, and he’d be an asshole for disturbing her.  He grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently, and she went still.  </p><p><br/> &lt;Everything’s gonna be fine&gt;, he told himself, finally relaxing.  &lt;Sammy’s gonna feel better in the morning; my ass is gonna feel better; Ash is gonna heal up, and it’s not going to matter that she saw me bare-ass naked having sex with a bunch of dudes.  And I’m going to repress the hell out of that orgy, just like I repressed 40 years in Hell…&gt;</p><p> </p><p> In the morning (relatively speaking), the second-day soreness caught up with the boys.  Sam had pulled the covers over his back in his sleep, and now they were glued to him with a mixture of blood and pus.  The hoof-prints on his stomach were a deep purple color and inflamed, almost like he was pregnant with several very small babies all sticking out at different angles.  His dick was raw and chafed, like someone had taken a loofah to it or a small belt-sander, and his ass…Well, he wasn’t looking forward to taking a dump, that was for sure.  </p><p><br/> Dean’s nether regions were similarly affected, and though he hadn’t been burned by a dragon, he’d still taken plenty of hits from the satyrs.  He dragged himself out of bed, just wanting to go home and put this whole thing behind him.  </p><p><br/>Ash didn’t have anything else to wear, so she had to put the bloody dress back on, covering it with Dean’s shirt.  It wasn’t a good look, but at least she wouldn’t draw too much attention to herself when they had to stop.  She gathered the base of the shirt and tied it in a knot, trying to make her outfit look like an intentional choice.  Before they headed out, she caught their attention.</p><p><br/>“I think I can heal you guys.”</p><p><br/> Sam shook his head.  “I told you, it wasn’t your fault.”</p><p><br/> “Still—you’re going to be sitting in the car all day, with your back up against the seat.  If I can heal your burns, and where they kicked you—it shouldn’t be that hard.”</p><p><br/>Dean tried not to think about what he’d felt like before she’d healed him back at Leviathan Central. “I don’t know, Ash…You were pretty beat after that.  We’ll be alright.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I guess so.  But you were really hurt, and Sam’s not that bad.  It’s just…It’s what, eight hours back to the bunker?  And it seems like one of those things that I &lt;can&gt; do, but I don’t really use it, so maybe if I get used to healing &lt;little&gt; things, I’ll do better the next time one of you, you know…Almost dies, or something.”  </p><p><br/> Sam gave his brother a questioning look, as if to say, ‘bad idea, or really bad idea?’</p><p><br/> Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “Alright.  You try to heal Sammy, and we’ll see how it goes.  But if I tell you to stop, you stop.  Got it?”</p><p><br/> <br/> Ash knelt on the carpet and Sam mirrored her, their knees almost touching.  </p><p><br/> “Okay, just give me a second to figure this out,” Ash said, closing her eyes to concentrate.  It was easier now, since she’d had more time to get a feel for how the energy worked.  She knew how to force her power outward in aggression, knew the difference between shoving someone away or pulling them out of harm’s way.  Castiel had said that her ability to heal was connected to the soul: touch the soul, heal the body, or something.  It wasn’t like that, exactly, but it was the best way she could think of it.  Focusing on what she wanted, she opened her eyes and saw Sam’s soul, bright and gold like his brother’s but lighter and freer, less jaded by the world.  Tentatively, she reached a hand out to touch it and felt the connection.  Gold light, burning like fire, flowed through her and into his soul, building it up and making the little flames flicker higher.  </p><p><br/> She could feel his pain like it was hers now: His abdomen was sore, throbbing every time he inhaled; sharp lines of pain spread down his back as the damaged skin and tissue brushed against his shirt.  His muscles were sore everywhere, but she wasn’t worried about that.  If she could just take care of the larger injuries—she paused, feeling something strange.  There was some sort of infection in his blood, no doubt a result of being out in the cold for so long without any protection.  Well, there was no point in letting him get sick if she could help it: Once she felt that his back and torso had healed, she attacked the virus.</p><p><br/> “Stop!”  </p><p><br/> She heard the voice, but it was so far away, she didn’t even register it as Dean’s at first.</p><p><br/> “Ash, stop!” Sam said, right in front of her.  She pulled back her energy, and slumped forward, slipping out of consciousness.  </p><p><br/> When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on the bed.  Dean was flicking water on her face, looking concerned.  </p><p><br/> “Told you the water would work,” he said to Sam, who was sitting on her other side.</p><p><br/> “Ugh,” Ash grumbled, wiping her face with the back of her hand.  “What…Sam, are you okay?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks to you.  But you don’t look so hot.”</p><p><br/> “You’re paler than a wraith.  And I should know—I’ve killed lots of ‘em.”</p><p><br/> “How do you feel?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “Dunno.  Kinda dizzy.  Light-headed.”  She started to sit up, and teetered to the side.  “Tired.”  She saw Dean’s eyebrows knit together and added, “But I’m fine.”  </p><p><br/> Dean handed her the glass of water he’d been using.  “Here.  Drink.”</p><p><br/> Ash drained the glass.  “I haven’t healed you yet,” she said to Dean.</p><p><br/> “I’m fine,” he said.  “Really.  I’ve had a lot worse.  Come on; let’s go home.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash slept most of the way back, waking up when they stopped for lunch and then passing back out the second they were back on the highway.  Dean made more pit stops than he usually would have, the second-day soreness killing his ass, but there was no way in hell he was going to say anything about it.  As that was one of the bits Ash hadn’t gotten to heal, Sam was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs as well.  </p><p><br/> Ash woke up when the Impala turned off the paved road toward the bunker.  Her mouth felt dry and she was a little light-headed, not to mention sore from being in a car for eight hours, but she didn’t feel as drained as she had before her mega-nap.  That didn’t stop Dean from being all ‘mother hen,’ as Sam called it, nagging her to make herself some tea and sit down while he and Sam unpacked.  </p><p><br/> She sat down in the kitchen with her tea and Sam’s laptop, browsing through all the news sites he used.  She didn’t know all the things he looked for to find a case, but she had a general idea of what was normal and what wasn’t.  </p><p><br/> “Find anything interesting?” Sam asked, starting up a pot of coffee.  </p><p><br/> She shook her head.  “Guess I’m not a real hunter yet,” she joked.  </p><p><br/> Sam smiled.  “Well, you’re looking at national news sites right now.  Gotta check the local stuff for obituaries—oh, maybe you did find something.”  He sat down next to her and swiveled the computer toward him.  “Vegas’s ‘murder suite’ marks fourth killing in six months.  Mark White, 26, and Clara Smith, 25, had just tied the knot at the Excalibur’s Wedding Chapel…blah blah blah…She claims another man entered the suite and proceeded to stab her new husband repeatedly, but she is currently the sole suspect…Hmm.  Well, it could be nothing, but it might be a ghost or some sort of possession.  Vegas might be fun, if I can keep Dean away from the slot machines.”</p><p><br/> “I heard my name,” Dean said, sidling into the kitchen.  Sam could hardly tell that he was walking funny at all.  </p><p><br/> “Just looking at a possible case in Vegas.  But I don’t think you should go gambling after what happened last time.”</p><p><br/> “I won $500!”</p><p><br/> “After you lost over $1000.”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed and stared at the coffeemaker, which was still brewing.  “You’re going to start using psychology—”</p><p><br/> “You have an addictive personality, Dean.”</p><p><br/> “We’ve been over this before, Sammy.  I’m not an alcoholic.”</p><p><br/> Sam growled in frustration.  “It’s not…Fine,” he said, switching gears entirely, “Do you want to go to Vegas to hunt something that hunts newlyweds?”</p><p><br/> “That’s…Oddly specific.”</p><p><br/> “Well, either that or a bunch of wives have all just suddenly decided to kill their husbands on their wedding night.”</p><p><br/> “Inheritance?” Dean shrugged.</p><p><br/> “They could at least wait till they got home, in that case.  Could probably make it look more like an accident.  And I don’t think people who elope at the Excalibur are exactly loaded.”</p><p><br/> “Excalibur?” Dean made a face.  “King Arthur’s sword, right?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, it’s like a medieval castle themed place.  They have one of those Medieval Times-style shows, I think, where you eat a whole chicken and watch jousting.”</p><p><br/> “Hmm.  Sounds tacky and hilarious.  I guess we could look into it.  We should chill here for a couple days, though: I’m sick of driving.”</p><p><br/> &lt;Sick of sitting on your sore ass is more like it&gt;, Sam thought.  “Alright.  Hopefully we’ll hear from Cas before we go, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash sat in one of the plush leather chairs in the library.  She had found a book that she was drawn to, and was now totally invested in it: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter.  It was written back in the late 1600’s by a British witch who was psychic.  The term ‘prophecy’ wasn’t 100% accurate, since she wasn’t a true prophet, but Ash was pretty sure that everything that had happened in the book was completely true.  Much of it covered general things that had happened over the past few millennia: A few plagues, world wars, and natural disasters.  Then things got closer to home, as she mentioned events like an angel hauling a man out of Perdition and Lucifer’s release from Hell, followed by his return to the Cage.  A demon was mentioned that bore a striking similarity to Crowley, and then there was the most chilling bit: A whole chapter on the being whose choices would decide the fate of the world.  </p><p><br/> &lt;She who is made from Heaven and Hell&gt;, it said.  There was a fairly detailed bit about how she would bring about the destruction of Earth: Mountains would explode (volcanoes?), the seas would rise up (tsunamis?), and a cleansing fire would wipe out all life on the planet.  Heaven would fall, and Lucifer would rule over a wasteland of tortured souls.  That ending was the outcome of the demon side winning out, evidently; there was a second outcome, which seemed to be written almost as an after-thought.  In Option Number Two, she would have the power to &lt;give and take the life of all God’s creations, from the lowliest bacteria to the heavenly Archangels&gt;.  Lucifer was an archangel, and she was supposed to kill him according to Crowley, so that made sense.  As for ‘giving life,’ was that about bringing angels back?  How had all the angels died in the first place?</p><p><br/> “Ash?” Dean called from the doorway, and she startled, dropping the book and snapping her head up.</p><p> <br/> “Good book?” he asked, stepping into the room.</p><p><br/> Ash looked down at the cover.  “It’s…Interesting.”</p><p><br/> Dean turned his head so he could read the title.  “Can’t say I’ve seen it before.  Prophecy book?”</p><p><br/> She tossed it over to him and he sat down across from her, picking it up where it had naturally fallen open, the last page she’d read.  His eyes skimmed across the page, then doubled back and read more carefully.  </p><p><br/> “Hey…This is…”  He fell silent as the prophecy continued, talking about all the things said being might be able to do or accomplish.  For every statement about restoring the world and fixing things, there was inevitably another stating just the opposite: She would definitely either save the world or destroy it, there wasn’t any middle ground where she’d just sit back and twiddle her thumbs, maybe get a day job in customer service and join a book club.  If she failed to save the world, she would destroy it.  &lt;No pressure though, right?&gt;  </p><p><br/>“Where did you find this?”</p><p><br/> Ash pointed to an empty spot on the bottom shelf.</p><p><br/> “Huh.  I’m surprised Sam never mentioned it—he must’ve catalogued every book in the bunker by now.”  He turned and raised his voice.  “Hey Sammy!”</p><p><br/> Sam shuffled into the room a few moments later, looking half asleep.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “You haven’t read this, have you?” Dean asked, waving the book at him.</p><p><br/> Sam squinted at the title.  “No, never seen it.  Where’d it come from?”</p><p><br/> Dean pointed.  He handed the book to Sam, and they both watched Sam’s eyes gradually widen as he read through the pertinent prophecy.  He cleared his throat.  “…Huh…Mind if I take a look at this?” Sam asked her.  </p><p><br/> Ash sat up straighter, suddenly reticent to let the book out of her sight.  It seemed to know more about her life than she did at this point, and she wondered what else it knew.  “Yeah, alright.  I haven’t finished it though—”</p><p><br/> “I’ll give it back in the morning.  We can trade back and forth.”</p><p><br/> She nodded, relaxing back into her seat.  </p><p><br/> Dean yawned.  “Well, I’m beat.  Guess I’m gonna turn in for the night.”  He stood up, expecting Ash to follow him, but she seemed lost in thought.</p><p><br/> He knew he could have let it go at that.  Maybe she would fall asleep in her chair, or go to the guest room.  While he would never admit it out loud to anyone, not even Sammy, he really liked snuggling with her.  He could blame it on her power, he supposed, and the way he felt looser around her—she affected Crowley, so who’s to say she didn’t affect humans as well?  It was certainly easier to pin this on her than on himself, and admit to &lt;himself&gt; that he was really a chick-flick loving, snuggling, soft-hearted guy underneath all the layers of strong tortured hunter.  </p><p><br/> “You know you can still stay with me if you want.  Or Sammy,” he added quickly.  </p><p><br/> Ash blinked at him in surprise, like she’d forgotten he was still there.  She tilted her head, just like she did when she was a dog.  “Do you…&lt;Want&gt; me to stay with you?”</p><p> She had assumed that both boys would rather have their own space to themselves and not have to worry about ‘babysitting’ her.  Especially after the whole kissing fiasco, and the whole satyr orgy fiasco.  She wasn’t even sure what ‘fiasco’ meant, but it seemed to fit the circumstances.</p><p><br/> “Course I do.  You’re awesome.”</p><p><br/> Ash blushed slightly and looked down at her hands.  “Isn’t it…Weird, though, to…To sleep with someone you aren’t sleeping with?  I don’t think most humans—”</p><p><br/> “No, it’s not weird,” Dean said quickly, feeling like he’d just about managed to convince her.  “Maybe it &lt;should&gt; be, but it’s not.”</p><p><br/> Ash stood up.  “Okay.”  </p><p><br/> Dean tried not to look surprised.  &lt;She doesn’t know how to say no&gt;, he remembered.  “Hang on—is it weird to &lt;you&gt;?”</p><p><br/> Ash faltered, and the blush returned.  “Not…I…”  She shook her head.  “I was raised by a demon.  Everything is weird.”</p><p><br/> She followed him back to his room and they settled into what was becoming their new normal: Dean pulled up a mindless video on his laptop to help him sleep, then laid down on his side so Ash could snuggle up to him.  </p><p><br/> “You okay?” Dean asked, wrapping his arm around her.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.”  She felt the bulk of gauze under her shirt.  “I heal pretty fast.  Should be able to take the bandages off tomorrow.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  That’s…Good.  But I meant…More…Mentally-slash-emotionally…”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Yeah.  I’m okay.  You?”</p><p><br/> “I’m always okay.”</p><p><br/> Ash snorted.  “Yeah, okay.”</p><p><br/> Dean jabbed an accusatory finger into her side.  “Look, it’s not my fault you’re some kind of emotional laxative—"</p><p><br/> “What?”</p><p><br/> “Uh, never mind.  Just…Forget I said that.”</p><p><br/> Her head twisted toward him slightly.  “Emotional laxative,” she repeated, ignoring his request.  “I…Make you feel things more?”  Her eyes widened.  “In the bar, I made Sam think about your parents and his girlfriend.  Is that what you were thinking about?  Not Sam’s girlfriend, I mean, but—Is that why you kissed me?”</p><p><br/> It took Dean a long moment to reply.  Ash thought he was pretending he hadn’t heard her, or was just flat out ignoring her.  Maybe he &lt;was&gt; still upset with her for porting away.  </p><p><br/> “I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have brought it up.  I didn’t mean to port—”</p><p><br/> “No, it’s okay.  He squeezed her arm gently in reassurance.  “I…I’m not really good at talking this stuff out, you know?”</p><p><br/> “I know.  I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it.”</p><p><br/> “I wasn’t thinking about an old girlfriend,” Dean said.  “I…look...,” he stammered, shifting his weight.  “I was kissing you,” he paused, drew his breath, “…I wanted to kiss you.”  &lt;Oh my God, I’m having a chick flick moment.  Help.&gt;</p><p><br/> Ash rolled onto her back so that she could look him in the eye.  Did he really just say…?  He must have, because he looked super uncomfortable.  Like he’d just eaten something awful but was too polite to spit it back out.  She wanted him to say more nice things, but he looked like he’d rather be back with the satyrs than talk about “Feelings”.  But she couldn’t just drop the subject, right?  It was kind of a big deal that he really did want to kiss her, right?  Or, maybe not.  Dean did kiss an awful lot of women.  </p><p><br/> “Would…”  She stopped herself and started over.  “Do you still want to kiss me?”  Gods, she felt like an idiot.  A big, mushy, rom-com teenage girl-level idiot.   </p><p><br/> Dean let out a nervous laugh.  “I think Crowley was pretty clear on what he thought of that.”</p><p><br/> “He was…Overreacting.”  &lt;Holy crap, did she just say that?  Crowley would kill her.&gt;  “He mostly remembers you as a demon.  That’s when you spent the most time together.  I think it’s hard for him to think of you as completely human…He’s never really understood the concept of self-control…”</p><p><br/> Dean’s eyebrows lifted so high, they threatened to leave his head.  “You’d disobey Crowley.”  </p><p><br/> Her face scrunched up like she’d smelled something rancid.  “Not &lt;disobey,&gt; exactly.  I’m not breaking the Rules.”  Still, this was the closest she’d come to rebelling against him in her thirty years of existence.  </p><p><br/> Dean’s brain struggled to process what she was saying.  She &lt;was&gt; willing to disobey Crowley, and she was willing to do it for &lt;him.&gt;  That…Felt really good, actually.  He’d always known that, if it were to come to it, she’d choose the demon over him, and though he understood why, it still hurt just a little when he thought about it.  But…Maybe that was changing.  </p><p><br/> Ash’s heart dropped when he didn’t say anything in response.  “Never mind,” she said, turning away from him.  “Forget I said anything.  I…Shouldn’t have brought it up—”</p><p><br/> Dean grabbed her shoulder, gently rolling her onto her back.  His hand moved to her face, brushing aside her hair, and cupping her cheek. He gazed intently into her eyes. &lt;Were his eyes always so green?&gt;  She could see the light freckles across his face.  He leaned in for a kiss.  Half of him expected her to disappear again, so he was pleasantly surprised when she stayed in place.  She seemed determined to make up for last time, kissing him back with an intensity he’d previously thought only applied to her killing things.  Before, she’d just been mirroring his movements, but now she was at least vaguely familiar with the mechanics.  She licked across his lower lip and slid her tongue inside his mouth, moaning so softly that he felt it more than he heard it, and the feeling went straight to his dick.  Her hand ran up his arm to grasp his shoulder as he returned the motion, plunging his tongue into her mouth and showing off every move he’d learned over the years, hoping he was having a similar effect on her.  &lt;Not that they could go further than this,&gt; a tiny, still-functioning part of his brain reminded him.  But he could still impress her, right?  And despite what Crowley might think (what did he know, anyway?), Dean had &lt;plenty&gt; of self-control, thank you very much, and he was totally capable of making out with Ash without having sex with her.  That’s why he had porn.</p><p><br/> He ran his hand down her side and over her ass, squeezing gently.  If there was one thing that stood out about Ash’s human form, it was her ass: He’d spent many a time trying very hard not to focus on it, especially those times when she didn’t have any clothes on.  It was, as the kids would say, “thicc,” but also tight. Her ass was almost entirely muscle, and it took every last ounce of control left in him not to give it a good smack.  He could feel out how she felt about ass-smacking some other time: Right now, he didn’t want to startle or offend her.  He could only imagine if she set something on fire here, and how he’d have to explain it to Sam later.</p><p><br/> Still, she was being incredibly responsive.  She didn’t object to the ass-squeezing: She let him pull her onto her side and straddled his left leg.  He started to grind against her but stopped himself—this ‘just kissing’ thing was harder than he thought.  As he conscientiously pulled his hips back to avoid poking her with his hard-on, he felt a twinge of pain shoot through his ass.  &lt;Right.  That’s still a thing,&gt; he thought.</p><p><br/> His mind immediately flooded with images he’d been trying to repress: Sorority girls turning into middle-aged men; the satyrs with their giant, hairy shlongs; having his dick shoved up some random guy’s ass; some random guy shoving his dick up &lt;Dean’s&gt; ass.  </p><p><br/> What if—What if he was under a fairy spell right now?  This &lt;was&gt; kind of too good to be true; what if it was all a hallucination, and she was really some nasty old man who hadn’t showered in a week, or worse: What if she was a satyr about to shove a three-foot-long dick up his ass and kill him?</p><p><br/> He broke the kiss, pushing her away harder than he probably should have.  Ash gave him a confused look: Had she done something wrong?  Had she hurt him?  Had he suddenly remembered that she wasn’t human, and he was disgusted with himself?  </p><p><br/> “Not real,” Dean muttered, backing away.  He sat up and shook his head furiously, as if he could shake all the fairy dust off.  “This isn’t real.”</p><p><br/> Ash started to sit up, but that just made Dean more nervous, so she stayed where she was, propped up on one elbow.  “What’s not real?” </p><p><br/> “You.”  He gestured to the room in general.  “This.  You’re…Someone else.  Not real.”  He shook his head again.  “Fairies…”</p><p><br/> “We killed them.  You’re home; nothing can get in the bunker.”  She held her hand out to him.  “I’m not a satyr &lt;or&gt; a hairy old man.  You can test me if it helps; I know you have silver somewhere in here.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s anxiety started to fade.  Ash was right: They killed the fairies and the satyrs, and they were safe in the bunker.  All of that couldn’t be a hallucination.  Or…No, it was best not to think too hard about it.  He sat back down on the bed.  “I’m not going to cut you.  Sorry, I kinda lost it there.  Been a rough couple of days, I guess.”</p><p><br/> “It’s okay,” Ash said, relaxing now that Dean’s internal crisis seemed to have resolved itself.  “Is there anything I can do?”</p><p><br/> He shook his head, climbing back under the covers.  “Can I just hold you for a while?”</p><p><br/> She turned onto her side, facing away from him, and snuggled against him as he wrapped his arm around her waist.  He held her tighter than usual, like a small child with a teddy bear on a stormy night.  Like if he let go, she might disappear.  </p><p><br/> A notification popped up on Dean’s laptop that there was a new episode of ‘Ghost Facers’ on YouTube.  Ash clicked on it, hoping the amateurs’ bizarre antics would help get Dean out of his head.</p><p><br/> But Dean was stuck in his head.  How fucked up was it, that he’d had sex with other people (&lt;men&gt;, not hot sorority sisters) against his will and they’d had sex with &lt;him&gt;; he’d had at least one other dude’s dick in his &lt;ass&gt;, probably more than one but he’d never know for sure, didn’t &lt;want&gt; to know.  How did he move on from that?  How could he be sure the next chick he banged was real, and not another goddamn fairy trick?  Oh, and he still needed to get tested—He hadn’t needed an STD test in years, neither had Sam, but he was pretty sure that part of it involved getting a swab shoved up his urethra.  </p><p><br/> God, he hated fairies.  He buried his face in Ash’s hair, letting her familiar scent calm him.  He could hear the Ghost Facers doing something dumb, as usual.  They were talking about investigating a demonic possession, but it was laughably obvious from the few small details they shared that their case wasn’t a demon at all.  It was likely either ghost possession, or some teenagers being stupid and making up a story to get out of trouble.  </p><p><br/> “I can’t believe they’re still alive,” Ash mumbled sleepily after watching one of them fall through a rotten staircase.</p><p><br/> Dean chuckled.  “I know, right?”  He kissed the back of her head.  “I’ll be lucky if I never run into those idiots again.  But it is kinda fun to watch them fail so hard on their show.”<br/>  </p><p> </p><p> While Sam and Dean were out getting tested for STIs, Ash studied up on Las Vegas.  For a place called Sin City, it wasn’t surprising that demons and monsters had a strong presence there.  Apparently, people who were willing to gamble thousands of dollars didn’t mind betting their souls as well.  She knew Crowley had a whole shelf of Vegas-based demon deals somewhere in his office, as well as a list of other things his demons dealt with there.  Sometimes too many monsters threatened the ‘ecosystem,’ so to speak, like a time back in 1982 when an over-abundance of succubi posing as prostitutes had caught the attention of local and federal law enforcement agents, nearly toppling the entire sex trade business and drawing in hunters from all over the country to wipe them out.  But for the most part, the supernatural went unnoticed in a city that was already known for being a bit crazy and weird.  </p><p><br/> The boys returned late in the day, bringing dinner and other supplies.  They’d done a full run-through of the town, hitting up the grocery store, hardware store, pharmacy, post office (the only PO box with their actual name listed on the address), and the obligatory sexual health clinic.  </p><p><br/> “So how’s the outside world?” Ash asked once they were all sitting down with their food (Chinese, the best in the state).</p><p><br/> “Receptionist hit on Sam at the clinic,” Dean announced, and his brother glared at him.  “I told him he could have Baby if he wanted to go meet her later.”  He reached across the table and ruffled Sam’s hair before Sam swatted his hand away.  “It’s admirable, really, flirting with someone who’s there just to find out if they have communicable diseases.”</p><p><br/> “She was just being friendly,” Sam snapped.</p><p><br/> “She gave you her number.”</p><p><br/> Sam tried to hide his blush behind a chicken wing.  “You get the alert yet?”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “No, should be done soon though.”  He turned to Ash to explain: “They process everything in an on-site lab and send you an e-mail when the tests are complete.  You use a link in the e-mail to log into a secured site and it gives you your results.  They said it usually takes about eight hours, which beats the hell out of the days it used to take.”  He pulled his phone out of his pocket as it vibrated.  “Speak of the devil.”</p><p> <br/> Sam pulled his own phone out, and both brothers logged into the system.  Sam was the first to load his results.</p><p><br/> “Nothing,” he said, sounding relieved.  “I am disease-free.”</p><p><br/> “What the fuck?” Dean snapped, staring at his screen.  </p><p><br/> Sam scooted around the table so he could look over his brother’s shoulder.  “What is it?”</p><p><br/> “I think mine’s broken, dude.  There’s no way that’s right.”  He tilted the phone in his hand so Sam could read it better.  </p><p><br/> &lt;You have tested positive for the following disease markers: Gonorrhea, Syphilis, genital herpes, and HIV.  Please contact your family physician to discuss your treatment options&gt;.</p><p><br/> Sam burst out laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair.  </p><p><br/> “What the hell, Sammy!  That’s not funny!”</p><p><br/> Ash got up while Dean was preoccupied with Sam and gently plucked the phone out of his hand.  She didn’t know any of the diseases, but each had a helpful hyperlink with an explanation.  </p><p><br/> “Damn it, Sam, this is serious!  The hell am I supposed to do?”</p><p><br/> Sam couldn’t stop laughing, which made Dean even more furious.  Catching his breath finally, Sam tried to look concerned.  “Well,” he said in the most serious voice he could manage, “Condoms, obviously.  And you might want to get some dental dams—”</p><p><br/> Dean smacked him hard enough to propel him back out of his chair.  “Asshole!”</p><p><br/> “Oh come on, Dean,” Sam said, catching himself on the edge of the table.  “Most of this shit is treatable.  Besides, you’re a hunter—you’re not gonna live long enough to get killed by AIDS.”</p><p><br/> “Hah.  Thanks, that really helps.”</p><p><br/> “Seriously, though, Ash will heal you and you’ll be fine.”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded, setting the phone down on the table.  </p><p><br/> Dean sighed.  “Okay.  Yeah.”  He stood up.  “Ash, you good to do this now?” </p><p><br/> She nodded again.  </p><p><br/> “Okay.  “Let’s go somewhere you can’t hurt yourself when you pass out.”  He motioned for them to follow him back to his room.  </p><p><br/> “I only passed out because I was tired from fighting the satyrs, and I was wounded,” Ash grumbled behind him.  </p><p><br/> “You’ve only done this twice; you don’t know what’s going to happen.”</p><p><br/> &lt;Castiel makes it look so easy&gt;, she thought bitterly.  &lt;How come it’s so hard for me?&gt;  But she knew he used his Grace, and she didn’t have that—she used…What?  Her soul?  ‘Special mojo?’  She knelt facing Dean on the bed, sitting back on her heels.  Ash rolled her head back and forth, loosening tension in her neck.  Sam leaned against the doorframe, watching in case something went wrong.  </p><p><br/> “How will I know if it worked?” Dean asked.  “It’s not like a physical injury, where you can see it heal.”</p><p><br/> “I can feel if you have an injury.  Like, if you broke your arm, my arm would hurt in the same place and I would know that part needs to be fixed.  And I can feel if you have a virus—I felt something in Sam when I was healing him, so I killed it.  I’ll know if you have anything living in you that’s not supposed to be there.”</p><p><br/> “Wait—you felt something in Sam?  Like, he might have had all the diseases I have, but you just wiped them out?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “It could have been a cold…”</p><p><br/>“Hold on,” Sam said, “you feel where we’re hurt?  So everywhere you healed, you knew about?  It wasn’t just a blanket ‘poof, everything better now’?”  His face seemed to be redder than it had been a moment ago.  </p><p><br/> “She saw you at an all-dude orgy,” Dean snapped, “Really couldn’t’ve come as a surprise that your ass was fucked up.”</p><p><br/> Ash turned her face into her shoulder and covered her mouth with her hand, biting her cheek to stop herself from laughing.  </p><p><br/> Sam straightened and glared at his brother.  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, well, that was before I found out I had the Greatest Hits of STDs.  A few more weeks and my junk’ll look like a freakin’ leper.”</p><p><br/> “You’ll be fine in a second,” Ash said calmly.  “Just shut up for a minute, so I can focus.”</p><p><br/> Dean turned back to face her and settled down, sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees like he was going to meditate.  Ash took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing on her energy, then exhaled as her eyes opened and she could see Dean’s soul.  </p><p><br/> It looked much like Sam’s, but darker.  Gold tendrils swirled around deeper gold flames, and she could feel all the repressed emotions packed tightly together, compressed to the point where they should have exploded long ago.  There was a prevailing feeling of anger, the one thing Dean always felt free to express, but it was just used as a coping mechanism, a cover for everything from sadness, guilt, shame, even happiness, and, oddly enough, &lt;more&gt; anger.  Ash touched the gold and felt the connection, and almost instantly she felt the wrongness in his system.  Working carefully, she purged away everything that wasn’t &lt;Dean&gt;, and the clinic hadn’t been messing around: There was a lot of stuff in there that didn’t belong.  </p><p><br/> “Okay,” she said at last, cutting the connection between them.  “You can take the test again to be sure, but I think I got everything.”  </p><p><br/> Dean looked concerned.  “Thank you.  You feeling okay?  You’re a little…Pale.”</p><p><br/> “Fine,” she said.  “And you thought I was gonna pass—”</p><p><br/> Ash slumped sideways onto the mattress, unconscious.</p><p><br/> Dean went to pick her up and move her into a more comfortable position, and her eyes snapped open.  “I’m fine.”</p><p><br/> “Fine, yeah,” Dean replied sarcastically.  “You only passed out for a second, like you did with Sammy.  Here—Sam, stack those up,” he ordered his brother, nodding to the pillows, and helped Ash lean back against the headboard.  “Don’t go anywhere, kid.  I’m gonna grab you some Pedialyte and the rest of your dinner.”</p><p><br/> “But I can—”</p><p><br/> “Stay,” Dean ordered, and Ash sagged back against the pillows.  “Sam, could you grab her my computer?  It’s in…That pile, somewhere,” he said, pointing to a cluster of stuff by the door.  </p><p><br/> Once Ash had everything she needed and Dean was certain she wasn’t going to try to get up, he and Sam left her alone.  In addition to the laptop, she’d managed to get The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter back from Sam, which was what she now focused on.  </p><p><br/> Aside from the bits she’d already read, the rest of the book didn’t prove as helpful as she’d hoped.  She would have appreciated detailed instructions as to how she was supposed to save the world, but Agnes’ writing was geared more toward vague generalizations with occasional specific information that would probably only make sense once it had already happened.  </p><p><br/> &lt;The devil will rise and unleash God’s Plagues upon the land.  The Heavenly Host will wage war upon him and fall before him, and Heaven itself will fall and Hell will rise.  The Squirrel and the Moose will stand with the Hero and the Shield, and only when they are together the Child of Heaven and Hell may smite the Devil, if she be notte swayed by his cunning.   And she will resurrect the Host, and Heaven and Hell will be restored.  And that which she had lost will be returned.&gt;  </p><p><br/> Okay, that wasn’t &lt;that&gt; hard to follow: Lucifer would come to Earth and set off the ten plagues of Egypt.  The angels would fight him and he’d win, and without enough angels left Heaven would collapse, dumping all of its souls on Earth, and so would Hell, dumping all of &lt;its&gt; various beings on Earth.  Squirrel and Moose—had Agnes really quoted Crowley?  Ash felt a twinge of pride at the thought.  The Hero and the Shield, that was harder.  ‘Castiel’ meant ‘shield of God,’ and he was normally with them anyway, so that was probably him.  But who was the ‘hero’?  Another angel?  She’d have to ask Sam about that; if he and Dean didn’t know, Cas probably would.  And again, the book was disappointingly vague on &lt;how&gt; Ash was supposed to smite the devil.  Resurrecting the Host must mean resurrecting the rest of the angels: Crowley had mentioned that bit, but even he wasn’t clear on the details.  He was under the impression that it would involve carving Enochian into her skin with an angel blade, but that only the Archangels knew the symbols and how to use them.  He also said there were three angels she should not, under any circumstance, resurrect.  Though he’d never said why, she was fairly certain that they were the ones that had killed her mother.  He refused to talk about it beyond their names, though, and she knew better than to ask.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash was sound asleep when Dean went to turn in for the night hours later.  He tried to tiptoe around his room so he wouldn’t wake her up, but all the whiskey and beer he’d had to repress the orgy memories had dulled his senses just enough that he tripped over his duffel bag and knocked a pile of books over.  Ash bolted upright.</p><p><br/> “Just me.  Sorry.  Stupid friggin’ books.”  Dean grabbed his pajamas and went to change in the bathroom.  When he came back out, Ash had moved over to her side of the bed and curled up again.  Dean sat down on his side and assumed his position next to her.  “How you feeling?”</p><p><br/> “Fine.  Just tired.”   </p><p><br/> “Thanks, by the way,” Dean said.  “I know it’s not Hell or Abaddon or the Mark of Cain or any of that shit, but I’m having a tough time dealing with…Everything.”</p><p><br/> “How’s Sam?”</p><p><br/> “Worse than he lets on.  He was still having a hard time getting over what happened when the Leviathans caught us, and this…Well, it really didn’t help.” He slipped his arm around her waist and squeezed just a little too hard.</p><p><br/>Ash didn’t object to the vice grip on her torso.  As long as Dean was touching her, everything was fine.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She opened her eyes to an increasingly familiar sight, and snapped them shut.  &lt;Not this,&gt; she thought frantically.  &lt;Wake up, wake up, wake up!&gt;</p><p><br/> “Hello, Ash!” Lucifer greeted cheerfully.  “I realized that you never got to know the &lt;real&gt; me; you only know what those propaganda-spewing angels have said about me.  And all sorts of lies from Crowley, naturally.”</p><p><br/> Ash opened her eyes again, resigned to her current fate.  The Devil smiled and cleared his throat.  </p><p><br/> “We’re going to start at the Beginning.  A few millennia after Dad said, ‘let there be light,’ he made the Archangels.  And I was his favorite…”<br/> <br/> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12: Slash Fiction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I had to do it.  I'm not sorry.  This is pure ridiculousness for the sake of being ridiculous.<br/>For the record, I love Crowley's meat suit.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/> An urgent call from Garth about a new hunter needing help just outside Wichita had the boys postponing their trip to Vegas.</p><p> <br/> “Maybe Ash should sit this one out,” Sam suggested.  “She’s been pushing herself really hard lately.  Besides, from what Garth said, we’re looking at witchcraft, and witches are still technically human.  She won’t be able to help us kill it.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, alright.  It’s just a couple hours away, anyway.  Not like we’ll be gone very long, and she’ll be safe in the bunker.”  It felt odd to leave her behind, but he had a feeling Sam was right.  “Right!  Let’s go gank us a witch!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/> Ash heard the bunker door open and hurried to the war room to greet her boys.  They’d only been gone a day, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.</p><p><br/> Sam looked sick as he tromped down the stairs.  His skin was pale and waxy, covered in a thin sheen of sweat; his hair was messy, matted to his head, and he was breathing heavily.  There was something else off, too: A sort of dark aura around him, like someone had tried to trace his outline with their non-dominant hand.</p><p><br/> “Sam?”</p><p><br/> Sam blinked, his eyes meeting hers, and she could see that his pupils were dilated unnaturally.  He looked surprised to see her there.  “Ash?  What’re you doing here?”</p><p><br/> Well &lt;that&gt; wasn’t normal.  “You left me here,” she said slowly, watching the aura shift around Sam.  </p><p><br/> “Oh.  Right.”</p><p><br/> As Sam exited the staircase, Dean appeared in the doorway above, looking just as shitty as his younger brother.</p><p> <br/> “What happened?”</p><p><br/> “Curse,” Dean said, leaning heavily on the railing as he descended.  “Sammy—look up—”</p><p><br/> “I’m on it,” Ash said.  She grabbed the laptop and brought up Sam’s favorite search pages.  Sam slumped into a chair, hands shaking as he brought them up to the keyboard.  Standing next to him, Ash could feel the heat radiating from him like he was a demon.  She watched the boys carefully, noting that Dean had the same dark lines around him as Sam.  When Sam randomly passed out halfway through typing, she pinched the back of his neck, snapping him awake to finish what he started.  </p><p><br/> Dean looked like he was going to throw up.  All the color faded from his face, but then he flushed bright red, as fast as a chameleon changing color.  He pitched forward, groaning as he rested his head on his forearms on the table.  Sam went through his own color change, but leaned his head back instead of smashing it into his laptop.  Ash watched helplessly: Without knowing the nature of the curse, she couldn’t offer them any relief.  Even giving them cold water or ice could make things worse, if the curse was designed a certain way.  </p><p><br/> Finally, Sam muttered something like “Hyundai,” and Ash looked over his shoulder to see what he was talking about.</p><p> <br/> “You want to try that again, Sam?” Dean groaned, lifting his head.</p><p><br/> “Fuck or die,” Sam hissed, shivering and hugging his arms against himself.  “’S a curse some asshole witches came up with.  Hafta have sex with someone in 24 hours or you die.”  He brought one arm up to cover his eyes, leaning back and breathing hard.  “Has to be actual sex—penetration—can’t just jerk yourself off.”</p><p><br/> Ash took a step back, away from Sam.  </p><p><br/> “No offense, Sam, but I’m not fuckin’ you,” Dean slurred, as sweat gushed down his forehead.  “An’ I’m not allowed to fuck her,” he added, nodding vaguely in Ash’s direction.  “’S rules.”  His teeth started to chatter.</p><p><br/> Sam straightened, looking momentarily clear-headed.  “We’ll call Cas.  He can fix us with his mojo.”</p><p><br/> “He can’t fix a curse,” Dean snapped.  “I think…I think we should &lt;not&gt; call Cas.”  His face had gone red again.  </p><p><br/> “What about Crowley?” Ash asked, knowing it wasn’t going to be a favorable option.  “He knows some witchcraft—might know a counter-curse that doesn’t involve incest.”</p><p><br/> “No!” said Sam adamantly, his own face flushing at the mention of the demon.  “No, we can…Figure something else out.  Cas will know—”</p><p><br/> “Not Cas!” Dean objected again.</p><p><br/> “What’s wrong with Cas?”</p><p><br/> Dean groaned.  “Nothing.  Nothing is wrong with Cas.  I just…”  He wheezed, gasping for air as he slumped further down in his seat.  “He’s not gonna be able to cure us.  You call him, here,  he’s gonna try to help.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, Dean—we need help.”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head, which triggered a coughing fit.  He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he pulled his hand away it was speckled with dark blood.  “No—he’ll try to &lt;help&gt;,” Dean said again.  “And I don’t…Sammy,” and now his voice was almost a low whine, “I don’t think—”</p><p><br/> He was interrupted by the flutter of wings behind him, and the color faded from his face as he twisted his head to see the angel.  He turned back to Sam with a glare.  “You prayed to him?  Really?”</p><p><br/> “I…Sub-consciously,” Sam said in defense.  </p><p><br/> “Sam,” Castiel greeted him.  “You’ve been cursed?”</p><p><br/> Ash blinked several times, then rubbed at her eyes.  Castiel had the same dark aura around him as Sam and Dean, but he hadn’t been with them when they were cursed.</p><p> <br/> “It’s a ‘have sex or die’ curse,” Sam said.  “Hit me and Dean before we could kill her.  And killing her didn’t take care of it.”  He turned the laptop around to face the angel.  “Do you know a way to break it?”</p><p><br/> Castiel studied the text, then nodded to himself.  “This is a straight-forward curse, and will be easy to break.”</p><p><br/> Sam and Dean both sagged in relief.</p><p><br/> “All you have to do is have penetrative sex.”</p><p><br/> The relief was short-lived.</p><p><br/> “Damn it, Cas, that’s what we’re trying to avoid,” Dean groaned.  “There’s no time to find someone in town, and even if we could, there’s no guarantee we wouldn’t pass the curse on to them.  And we’re &lt;not&gt; fucking each other.”</p><p><br/> A knock on the door startled them; Ash went to inspect.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, princess,” Crowley purred.</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes widened in alarm.  “Dean!  You called for—”</p><p><br/> Dean shrugged.  “He’s better with curses.”</p><p><br/> “Dammit, Dean!” Sam cursed, clutching at a ripple of pain in his abdomen.</p><p><br/> Ash obscured the devil’s trap so that Crowley could enter, and trailed after him down the stairs.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, boys.  Looks like you caught yourselves a shag or die spell.”</p><p><br/> Sam glared at Dean; Dean nodded.  </p><p><br/> “And, let me guess…Your Winchester nobility prevents you from running off to find some random whore to bump uglies with, because you might pass the curse on to her?  And obviously you don’t want to shag each other, despite what the Internet has to say about it.”</p><p><br/> “What--?” said Dean.</p><p><br/> “Fanfiction,” Sam huffed.  “From the Supernatural books, remember?  Slash?”</p><p><br/> Dean grimaced.  “So can you un-curse us?”</p><p><br/> Crowley circled slowly around the table, like a lion circling a pair of very stupid zebras.  Ash’s eyes widened when she noticed the flicker of black that outlined him: Something was happening to all four of them, and she didn’t think it was a fuck-or-die curse.  </p><p><br/> “The solution to your little problem is simple,” Crowley said, hands thrust in his suit pockets.  “There’s no undoing the curse except what it says on the tin: Find someone to shag.  Or die.”  He paused behind Sam, removing one hand from his pocket and squeezing Sam’s shoulder.  Sam flinched and ground his teeth, but didn’t push him away.  “If only there was some sort of &lt;being&gt; you could shag without worrying about the consequences…”</p><p><br/> “I will help you,” Cas said, his voice sounding hollow.  “I cannot allow you to die for this curse.”</p><p><br/> Dean shot to his feet, then swayed like he might fall over.  Cas was at his side in an instant, propping him up.  Dean tried to shake him off, but he was too weak from the curse’s fever.  “And I can’t force you to have sex with me!”</p><p><br/> “You’re not forcing me.  I am offering, Dean, to save your life.  I know that the thought of intercourse with another man makes you uncomfortable, but right now it is your only option.  You will not hurt me.”</p><p><br/> Dean squirmed in Castiel’s grasp.  {He could feel the angel’s breath hot on the back of his neck, and realized he was incredibly hard.  He had to resist the urge to grab his dick through his jeans and provide himself the relief he badly craved.  For years now, he had imagined what it might be like to make love to the angel: How soft his lips would be when he kissed him, the tight feel of his ass around his throbbing cock—}</p><p><br/> Dean screamed and whacked himself on the head.  </p><p><br/> “What?  What is it?” Sam shouted, shooting to his feet too fast.  His legs felt like jelly, and he instantly slumped back into his seat.</p><p><br/> Dean was shaking badly.  He sat down, brushing Cas’s hands away.  “N-nothing.  Just—just pain.  Wasn’t expecting it,” he lied.  No way was he going to admit that his brain just told him he wanted to have sex with Cas, when he knew that wasn’t true.  </p><p><br/> Sam might have been burning up, but he could still feel the heat radiating from the demon beside him.  He didn’t have to look at Crowley to know he was wearing the same smug expression as always, watching them in amusement to see what they would do next.  {He could smell sulfur and expensive cologne.  The scent should have repulsed him, but he found it intoxicating.  Ever since he’d nearly ‘cured’ Crowley with his blood, he’d felt an indescribable bond with the demon, though he’d never admit it to him or to Dean.  Dean would find the thought repulsive, and Crowley…Well, it would only give him leverage.  But now…Did they really have a choice?  If he fucked Crowley now, surely no one could blame him—it was that or die, right?  And if he just so happened to enjoy it, no one needed to know…Right?}</p><p><br/> “Gonna be sick,” Sam announced, pitching sideways out of his chair.  He wasn’t sure where those thoughts had come from, but they certainly didn’t originate in his own head.  When faced with the prospect of fucking Crowley, death started to look like the better option.  Hell, he occasionally thought of Crowley to turn himself &lt;off&gt;, like when he got that very inappropriate hard-on after seeing Ash naked (and Christ, she was always naked).  She wasn’t even his &lt;type&gt;—he loved her, but more in the way he loved his last dog—but all his brain knew was there was a naked chick standing in front of him, and suddenly Little Sam had sprung to attention.  In those instances, thinking about Crowley—or, in extreme cases, naked Crowley kissing Bobby—deflated him like a popped balloon.</p><p><br/> While Sam dry-heaved into a trash can and Cas and Dean continued to argue, Ash grabbed Crowley’s attention.  </p><p><br/> “Something’s happening with all of you,” she said quietly.  “You have this dark…Aura-ish thing around you—all four of you.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”</p><p><br/> Crowley’s usually confident expression faded.  “Dark aura,” he repeated.</p><p><br/> “I figured it was from the curse, since Sam and Dean had it when they came back from their hunt, but you and Cas weren’t there.  So why would you have it?”</p><p><br/> Crowley shifted his feet, thinking.  “Sounds like a different kind of curse.  That would explain…”  He gestured to his head.  </p><p><br/> Ash looked at him curiously.</p><p><br/> “Weird thoughts.  Things I didn’t think, in my head.”  He touched two fingers to Ash’s forehead, and she felt the odd narration of his thoughts: {He watched as Sam struggled to breathe, sweat glistening off his flushed skin.  Crowley couldn’t have asked for a better curse, truthfully: Ever since Sam had injected him with his blood to ‘cure’ him, Crowley had been drawn to the pain-in-the-ass Winchester.  He knew that Sam would never consent to the things he wanted to do to him, and arranging a sort of BDSM dungeon dub-con setup would be difficult and incur the wrath of his older, very stabby brother.  But a shag or die curse—that was something he could get behind.  Hah—‘behind.’  He would get behind Sam, alright, and fuck his ass raw, then fuck him some more.  And Sam would have to go along with it, unless he wanted to die…}</p><p><br/> Crowley pulled away, and Ash let out a strangled “hngh,” at a loss for words.</p><p><br/> “Those are not my thoughts,” Crowley hissed, angry and a little nervous.  “Not that I have anything against shagging Moose, mind you, but this isn’t…Something’s not right…”</p><p><br/> “So someone else is…Making you think things?”</p><p><br/> Castiel spun around, argument with Dean temporarily abandoned.  “Oh, thank goodness!  I thought it was just me!”</p><p><br/> “Someone controlling you, Feathers?”</p><p><br/> “I did find it odd that I suddenly felt a sexual attraction to Dean, as my love for him is completely platonic.”</p><p><br/> Dean blushed furiously.  Sam staggered back to the table and sat down heavily.  He was still breathing heavily and covered in sweat.</p><p><br/> “Are…Are you saying we’ve been double-cursed?”</p><p><br/> Crowley came up behind Sam again and squeezed both his shoulders.  Sam found himself simultaneously repulsed and craving more of the demon’s touch.  “I have a suspicion, but I’ll need a few things to confirm it.”</p><p><br/> Dean would never in a million years let Crowley have free reign over the bunker, but at the moment he was so distracted by the pain and fever of the curse, as well as trying to block out the mental images he had of what he wanted (no—didn’t want) to do to Cas that Crowley getting hold of some powerful artifact seemed insubstantial.  “Knock yourself out.”</p><p><br/> Crowley slid his hands off Sam and froze, like he’d been magic-ed in place.  His hands returned to Sam’s shoulders, though the rest of Crowley didn’t appear to approve.  “Bloody hell,” he growled.  “It’s getting stronger.”</p><p><br/> {Sam was beautiful.  Even in his current state, pale and glistening with sweat, he was still so beautiful. Maybe even more so, now that he was vulnerable.  Now that he needed Crowley to help him. </p><p><br/> A rare flicker of self-doubt crossed the demon’s mind.  He knew he didn’t have the most attractive meat-suit: Sam deserved someone better-looking, but the curse was progressing too fast for him to go out and find someone else to possess.}</p><p><br/> Crowley’s fingers dug painfully into Sam’s shoulders before he finally wrenched them free.  The demon’s eyes blazed red, and everyone except Sam inched away from him.  “You can go right to Hell, fan-girl!” he snarled.  “I’ll even get your room ready!”  His voice lowered to a low growl.  “’Didn’t have the most attractive meat suit.’  Hah!  We’ll see how attractive &lt;you&gt; are once I rip your skin off!”</p><p><br/> “Crowley!” Castiel chided.</p><p><br/> “What?” the demon snapped.  “I like this suit!”  He could have swapped meat-suits a thousand times, but this would always be his favorite.  </p><p><br/> “What are you talking about?” Dean asked between waves of pain.  Crowley had gone from needing something from the bunker to shouting at the air, and he was just trying to keep up.</p><p><br/> “It starts by feeding thoughts into your brain,” he said.  “Then it affects your movement and speech, until you aren’t really &lt;you&gt; anymore and you’re just part of the story.”</p><p><br/> “What story?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> Crowley sighed.  “Decades ago, I dabbled in cursed objects.  Made a few that I thought were pretty clever and sent them topside, just to mess with people.  Just a bit of fun.  One of those objects was a notebook.  Whatever’s written on its pages becomes reality.”</p><p><br/> “So someone’s writing about &lt;us&gt;?” Dean asked incredulously.  “How do they even &lt;know&gt;…”  He trailed off, the dreaded realization dawning.  “Supernatural.”</p><p><br/> “It appears, after all these years, my notebook’s found one of your little fan-girls.  I can’t believe my own invention came back to bite me in the ass.”</p><p><br/> “That’s the aura?” Ash asked, feeling like the fifth wheel in a really awful porno.  “That’s why you’re all…Dark?”</p><p><br/> Crowley nodded.  “We’re being controlled.  You’re not in the books; you didn’t pop into their lives till very recently, so the author hasn’t included you.”  He started massaging Sam’s shoulders, and Sam melted into his touch, the curse craving more contact.  “You need to find the notebook, Ash.  None of us can, since we’re all inside the narrative.  Get a metal bowl and fill it halfway with water.  Find a silver pen—I know they have one around here somewhere—a gold-colored coin, and a regular knife.  I’m sure Squirrel has everything but the bowl and water on him.”</p><p><br/> Ash hurried to get everything together, setting the bowl of water down in front of Crowley.  Dean tossed the pen across the table so she didn’t have to touch it, and Crowley dropped it into the water where it floated on the surface and turned around slowly.  He dropped the coin into the water and ran the knife across his palm, letting his blood drip into the bowl.  He said a few quick phrases in Latin, and smoke puffed off the surface of the water.  He watched as the pen spun, swirling the blood around.  Satisfied with his work, he nodded to himself and looked up at Ash.  </p><p><br/> “I can get you within a mile of the notebook,” he said.  “Once you find it, you’ll need to tear out the pages that’ve been written on and burn them.  The book itself won’t burn.”  Crowley held his hand up, his index and middle finger pressed against his thumb.  “I am not letting some pubescent &lt;fan-girl&gt; use my own magic against me,” he growled.  “’Not the most attractive meat-suit.’  I keep this thing in mint condition!  That’s a Herculean feat, given the number of times something’s tried to kill me!  Including this lot here,” he added, glaring at the three men around him.  He snapped his fingers.</p><p><br/> Ash vanished.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She reappeared on a sidewalk in front of a cluster of bright white apartment buildings.  Street lamps illuminated the warm night air, and palm trees rustled in the breeze.  &lt;So, not Kansas, then&gt;, Ash thought, trying to get her bearings.  The question was, how close had Crowley gotten her?  And how was she supposed to find the damn book in such a heavily populated area?  She glanced down the street: Lights were on in windows, but no one was outside right now.  She ducked behind a large shrub and shifted, hoping her clothes would still be there when she returned.  She turned into a bird and flew up to a better vantage point in the palm trees.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Twenty-one year old Michelle Simpson set down her pen and stretched her hand, which was starting to cramp.  She got up from the couch and went to make herself a Cup-o-Noodles, feeling too lazy to cook anything.  Besides, she was on a roll with her story.  She didn’t normally write fanfiction, she just read it, but she’d had this idea in her head for a while now, and she had a notebook she’d gotten ages ago, so…Why not?  She thought it was coming along pretty well, too: All angsty and piney right now, but soon it would be smutty and steamy.  She’d never written a sex scene before, and the only thing she knew about male-male sex was what she’d learned by reading other fanfics, but she felt like she had a basic understanding of how things worked.  After all, it was just a story; no one else ever had to read it, no one else ever had to know her guilty little secret.  Sure, she got turned on by slash fics, but judging by their popularity on the Internet, so did lots of other girls.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> {“There isn’t much time left,” Cas growled.  “You’re dying, Dean.  Let me help you.”</p><p><br/> Dean was almost doubled over as pain shot through his core and up his chest, making him feel like he was having a heart attack.  Hell, maybe he was.  But he knew he couldn’t let Cas do this—knew Cas, an angel, didn’t feel the same way about Dean that Dean did about Cas.  If he let him save him now, it would change everything forever.  He might lose him, and he wasn’t willing to take that chance.  Still, if he didn’t let Cas help him now, he’d die…</p><p><br/> Castiel helped Dean to his feet, and Dean wordlessly let the angel guide him out of the war room.  “Wait—Sam…”</p><p><br/> “Don’t worry your pretty little head about Moose,” Crowley purred.  “You may be huge pains in the ass, but you’re worth more to me alive than dead.”  He smoothed Sam’s sweat-soaked hair back, smirking as the younger Winchester moaned softly at the touch.  </p><p><br/> “I’m not having sex with you.  Not even if it kills me,” Sam hissed.</p><p><br/> “Is that so?”  Crowley grinned like a snake, perching on the table facing him.  “Your thoughts say otherwise—you’re thinking so loud, it’s not hard to hear, you know.”  As Sam cast his eyes down, away from him, Crowley reached out and grabbed his chin, pulling his face back up to make eye contact.  Sam’s pupils were blown up with lust, almost looking demonic.  “You want this, and it scares you.  You want to hate me, but you can’t.  We’re not so different, you and I.”  He slid his hand across Sam’s cheek and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear.  “At the end of the day, we both want the same thing.  We both deserve the same thing.”</p><p><br/> “You’re wrong,” Sam bit out through clenched teeth.  “I don’t…Don’t want this.”  His voice was small, almost whiny, as he fought against the growing need inside him.  He did want this; he needed this.  Needed Crowley.  </p><p><br/> “Is it really worth dying over?” Crowley asked, leaning forward so his face was just inches from Sam’s.}  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> A rat ran down the hall of a large apartment complex, its tiny claws tic-tic-ticking on the linoleum.  It paused for a moment at every door that had light shining out from under it, listening for the sound of pen scratching against paper.  It was a small sound, but the rat’s ears could pick it up, no problem.  All she could hear, though, was lots of people on their computers.  She kept going.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> {Dean collapsed on his bed, shivering violently.  Cas sat next to him, smoothing his sweat-slicked hair back and murmuring soothing nonsense.  </p><p><br/> “Cas,” Dean moaned.  “It hurts.  It hurts so much…Make it stop.  Please.”</p><p><br/> Castiel kissed Dean’s fevered brow, tasting salt.  He hauled him up so that he was positioned more or less correctly on the bed, with his head on a pillow and his feet in the general vicinity of the foot of the bed.  Cas laid down next to him so their bodies were flush.  Dean huddled against him, still shivering, as if the angel’s touch alone was enough to take the edge off the fever.  Castiel pressed one hand into the back of Dean’s neck, bringing his face in closer and slowly pressing their lips together.  For a moment, Dean froze; then he returned the kiss, running his tongue along Cas’s lips until they parted, granting him entry to the angel’s mouth.}  </p><p><br/> Michelle paused to take a sip of wine.  Cup-o-noodles and wine, she thought sarcastically, the winning combination.  She twirled the pen in her hand and thought about where to go from here.  Part of her thought it would be best to just write the rest of the Destiel bit, then move on to Moosley; but the other part thought it would be more interesting if she swapped back and forth, only showing a little of Dean and Cas before switching to Sam and Crowley.  That might have more tension, right?  She clicked the pen a couple times, then started to write again.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash heard the scratch of a pen, and shifted into a mouse so that she could squeeze under the door.  There she was: A young woman, writing in a plain-looking composition book.  The mouse crept forward, then used her power to pull the notebook out of the girl’s hands.  The human screamed as the book fell onto the floor; she threw her arm back and knocked a glass over, shattering it.  Ash ran for the book just as a man appeared, asking the woman what was wrong.</p><p><br/> “Spider!” the woman said, curling her legs up on her seat.  “Sorry I freaked out, I—I dropped my notebook and then the glass knocked over—”</p><p><br/> Ash was on the book now, trying to read the neat handwriting.  Her heart sank: </p><p><br/> {Bachelorette ideas: Option 1.  Vegas…}</p><p><br/> “It’s not a spider, it’s a mouse,” the man sighed.  “I’ll get it out of here.”</p><p><br/> He reached for the notebook, but Ash was already running back to the door.  This wasn’t the right book.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> {Crowley pressed Sam against the wall.  On a good day, his demon strength could overpower Sam: today, weak and feverish, he was comically overpowered.  As much as he wanted, no—needed—Crowley, he also hated himself for it.  He wasn’t going to make this easy on the demon, he decided.  He wasn’t going to let on like he enjoyed—<br/> Sam let out a low moan when Crowley’s hand brushed across his erection through his jeans.  He turned his head away and closed his eyes, embarrassed by how easy it was for Crowley to get a reaction out of him.  His dick was so hard it hurt, trapped in the rough denim confines of his pants.  He tried to push Crowley away, but the demon held him in place with his power, arms locked at his sides.  All Sam could manage to do was clench his fists as the demon ran his hands all over him.  Suddenly a wave of pain crashed over him, and he screamed, unable to move; he felt Crowley’s hold on him slacken, and he sank to his knees, curled up in agony.  It felt like someone was stabbing his kidneys, stomach, and lungs all at once; sweat poured off of him as his body temperature climbed dangerously.  He was vaguely aware of Crowley crouched beside him, running his hand through his hair.</p><p><br/> “You’re out of time, Moose.”}</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash paused at the end of another long damn hallway to catch her breath and listen.  Why were there so many humans?!  She hadn’t even covered a half-mile radius from where Crowley had dropped her, and she’d been here for over an hour.  </p><p><br/> There were a few more false positives.  Someone was writing a letter to her grandmother for her birthday, and was not impressed by the mouse in her kitchen.  A man, sketching a creepily naked portrait of Lindsay Lohan, didn’t even notice the rodent come and go from his apartment. </p><p><br/>One building over and no cursed notebooks to be found, Ash was starting to get pissed off.  She was seriously contemplating biting the next person who decided to write something on paper instead of the damn computer, like a normal person in the 21st century, but that would only slow her down more.  </p><p> </p><p><br/>  <br/> Michelle looked up from her writing.  She thought she heard someone knocking on her door; maybe her neighbor had locked himself out again?  He’d given her a spare key just in case, as he had a tendency of losing it.  Just as she started to get up from the couch, a mouse ran across her floor and looked straight at her.  She froze, holding her notebook in one hand and pen in the other like the world’s smallest, most useless sword and shield.  </p><p><br/> The mouse sat up on its hind legs and sniffed at her.  It didn’t seem afraid of her; maybe it had rabies.  Could mice get rabies?  They were mammals, so they must be able to.  Michelle stepped up onto the couch, just in case.</p><p><br/> She felt a tug on the notebook in her hand, and gripped it harder, like it was her last defense against the rabid mouse.  But there was another tug, much harder, and finally it flew out of her hand and dropped onto the floor.  The mouse ran over to it and the pages flopped open; it appeared to read the words on the open page, while Michelle stood motionless, still holding her pen.  </p><p><br/> The mouse’s fur rippled, then did something absolutely horrifying as it sucked back into its hide.  There was a sickening “sluck” and the crunch of bone shifting, and the mouse ballooned out into a gray-scaled dragon, its tail smacking into the wall and its wings breaking one of her lights before they folded into its sides.  Its eyes locked onto her, glowing an eerie blue.</p><p><br/> Michelle stopped breathing for a moment, then burst out in the sort of giggling fit that gets people put in institutions For Their Own Protection.  “Ah.  A dream.  I’m dreaming.  You’re not real.  I’m not real.  None of this is real.”</p><p><br/> The dragon blinked, then shrugged its shoulders.  It turned its attention back on the little notebook and very delicately pulled the pages out with its teeth.  </p><p><br/> “Hold on, that’s my sto—” Michelle started to say, because if you couldn’t argue with a dragon in a dream, what was the point of dreaming?  </p><p><br/> The dragon tilted its head back and tossed the pages into the air, then breathed fire, incinerating them.  Michelle shrieked, feeling the heat on her skin.  A small portion of her area rug caught fire, and the beast conscientiously stomped on it to put it out.  </p><p> </p><p> As soon as the last scrap of paper was ash, Ash caught the familiar smell of sulfur, and turned to look for Crowley. </p><p> <br/> His was not his usual calm, composed self.  His hair was sticking up at odd angles, his face was flushed, and there was a sinister red haze in his eyes.  He was also buck naked.  </p><p><br/>“&lt;You&gt;,” he snarled at the writer, stepping around the dragon’s tail like it wasn’t even there.  Ash tried to back up in the small space, wondering if the entire apartment complex was about to pay for the woman’s transgression.  She wondered whether it would be faster for her to escape through the door or smash through a window. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?  No one curses me with &lt;my own curse&gt;!”</p><p><br/> Michelle had, a this point, fallen on her ass on the floor, having tried to sit on the couch and missed.  Her eyes were wide, jaw slack, as she stared at the king of Hell.  “You’re—you’re him.  You’re Crowley,” she whispered.</p><p><br/> Crowley paused his hatred-fueled advance long enough to look confused.  “Of course I’m bloody Crowley.  Who the hell were you expecting?”</p><p><br/> “Bu…Bu…But,” she tried again, “You’re not &lt;real&gt;.”  She licked her lips.  “You’re &lt;real&gt;,” she said.  “I don’t believe—”</p><p><br/> Crowley swore in a language Ash wasn’t familiar with, and the temperature of the room went up significantly.  The air around him sizzled.  “If I never have to see one of Moose and Squirrel’s bloody fangirls again…”  He raised his hand, pausing when the girl spoke again.</p><p><br/> “Ohmygod,” she rambled breathlessly.  “It’s all real?  Sam and Dean and Castiel…What are you doing here?”</p><p><br/> “That little notebook you have rewrites reality.  And yes, we’re bloody real!”</p><p><br/> The girl’s eyes widened, still trying to absorb the reality of the glowering nude demon in front of her.  </p><p><br/> “This is a very complex dream,” she said after a moment’s reflection.</p><p><br/> “Okay, we’re done here,” Crowley said.  He snapped his fingers, and the woman’s hands disappeared, leaving her with stumps at the ends of her forearms.</p><p><br/> Michelle screamed, not stopping until Crowley snapped his fingers again, muting her.</p><p><br/> At the sound of rustling wings, Ash decided it was time to be less visible, and she shrank into a mouse, running for cover under the couch.  Castiel appeared, looking similarly unkempt, and similarly naked: They made an odd scene, even by Winchester standards, Ash reflected.  She wasn’t sure if angels cared about things like nudity—Castiel hadn’t seemed phased before by her shifting without clothes—but surely he could sense the awkwardness of the situation?</p><p><br/> “Put her back,” Castiel growled.</p><p><br/> “I’m just getting started with her,” Crowley snarled in response.  “She doesn’t like my suit, fine!  Wait till she sees what I &lt;really&gt; look like!”</p><p><br/> “She didn’t know what she was doing,” Castiel said calmly.  </p><p><br/> “You’re an angel, you’re used to being controlled by other people.  I’m the bloody King of Hell!  Nobody controls me!”</p><p><br/> Castiel touched the girl’s forehead, healing her with his grace.</p><p><br/> “God damn angel,” Crowley muttered angrily.</p><p><br/> “You’re Castiel!” Michelle cried, as if she hadn’t just been missing her hands.  Her brain seemed to be picking and choosing the bits it absorbed, and it had wisely chosen to omit the bit about losing her hands.  </p><p><br/> Michelle looked Castiel up and down, like she was the lucky winner of the VIP Angels and Demons Strip Club Experience.  She then glanced back to Crowley, who was still glaring daggers at Cas and wondering if he could just whack the angel over the head and cut something else off the girl.  </p><p><br/> “So,” Michelle said, “Is the bit about three extra inches true, then?  Because I was wondering—” </p><p><br/> “It’s a vessel,” he snapped.  “Don’t you know anything about demons after reading those damn books?!”  He turned to the angel. “At least let me—”</p><p><br/> “No,” Castiel replied sternly, eyes glowing in warning.  “I’m wiping her memory and we’re leaving.”</p><p><br/> “You’re no fun,” Crowley grumbled.  He snapped his fingers and his clothes appeared on him.  </p><p><br/> Castiel looked from the demon to the girl, making sure he hadn’t done anything else to her when he summoned his clothes.  As he put his free hand to the girl’s head once more, Crowley grabbed the surviving bit of the notebook.  Ash darted out from under the couch and hopped onto his arm.  She blinked, and they were back in the bunker.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Crowley vanished almost immediately, and Ash wondered if he was just going to go back to the writer’s apartment and torture her.  Castiel seemed to have the same thought, glowering at the place he’d vanished from, but he had other issues he needed to deal with, like clothing, and Sam and Dean, and &lt;maybe&gt; there was a little part of him, the human part at least, that wouldn’t have minded seeing the girl suffer just a little bit.  </p><p><br/> Ash walked the long, eerily quiet hall to Dean’s room so she could shift into a human and put some actual clothes on.  Sam’s room was empty as she passed by it, but she could hear the shower running further down the hall.  Sam was no doubt trying to scrub the events of the last few hours from his system, though she had a feeling he’d scrub himself bloody before he was able to feel clean.  </p><p><br/> The door to Dean’s room was shut.  She could hear music coming from inside, and she could smell sweat and alcohol.  She squeezed under the door and saw Dean at his desk, several bottles of liquor open around him, cleaning guns.  Should he really be drinking while he worked on those?  Ash shrugged mentally: He’d probably done it a thousand times before, and he hadn’t hurt himself yet.  He was singing along to ‘Werewolves of London,’ occasionally pausing to provide his own commentary in a sing-song voice: “But werewolves were eradicated from London in 1995 by the British Men of Letters, which is great but they’re still assholes…”</p><p><br/> Ash ran up the leg of the desk, hoping not to startle Dean too much with her arrival.  </p><p><br/> “Awwoooooo—Jesus Christ!” Dean shouted.  “Oh.  It’s just a mouse.  Are you Ash, or do I need to set some traps?”</p><p><br/> Ash leapt off the desk, shifting the moment her feet hit the floor. She grabbed a dress from a pile of dirty clothes and pulled it over her head.  </p><p><br/> “Oh.  Good.  So we’re all good now?  No more curses, or cursed books?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Crowley took what was left of the book, and I doubt he’s going to leave it where anyone else can find it now.”</p><p><br/> She got the impression that Dean wanted to be alone, and she didn’t blame him.  She ventured back into the hallway just in time for Sam to come out of the bathroom.  Normally, he had no problem wrapping a towel around his waist and walking to his room to get dressed, but current events had evidently made him more modest, and he emerged fully clothed, dressed in more layers than was strictly necessary in the warmth of the bunker.  He glanced at Ash, and a look of terror passed over his face.  <br/> “Is—Is your…The demon,” he said, unable to say his name.</p><p><br/> “He’s gone,” Ash replied, biting her cheek to stop herself from laughing at how absurd it all seemed.  Given that she hadn’t been on the receiving end of the cursed book, she felt it wouldn’t be fair of her to make light of Sam’s experience, at least not in front of him.  </p><p><br/> Sam breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the kitchen; having nothing else to do, Ash followed him.  He broke into the hard alcohol, which was usually Dean’s territory, and poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey.  Not a whiskey-sized glass of whiskey, but an actual pint glass of it.  He sat down at the table and started drinking like it was the end of the world.  </p><p><br/> Ash fidgeted in the doorway, feeling like she was only going to annoy him if she stayed, but she couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.  So she did what always seemed to work for her in the past: She shifted into a dog, because God forbid she should be the same shape for five damn minutes, and curled up at his feet.  </p><p><br/> “Sam,” Castiel said, and the younger Winchester nearly leapt out of his chair.  “Are you alright?”</p><p><br/> “I’m fine, Cas,” Sam sighed, taking a healthy gulp from his drink and nearly spitting it back up as it burned the back of is throat.  Maybe there was a reason why people drank whiskey in small amounts.  </p><p><br/> Castiel sat down across from him.  “Could I try some of that?”</p><p><br/> Sam looked up at him in surprise.  “It won’t do much for you.”</p><p><br/> “That just means I have to drink more.”  The angel grabbed the bottle as Sam pushed it across the table, splashing a healthy amount into an actual whiskey glass.  <br/> “We’ve got Everclear, if you don’t mind the taste of rubbing alcohol.”</p><p><br/> “I do not.”  Though he’d retained some of his sense of taste from his bout with humanity, everything was still, for the most part, molecule-y.  </p><p><br/> Sam grabbed the bottle and a shot glass, setting both down in front of the angel.  Cas knocked the first shot back and coughed, his throat burning.  Apparently, some molecules could kick the ass of other molecules.</p><p><br/> “It’s almost pure alcohol,” Sam said, whacking Cas on the back until he regained his composure.  </p><p> </p><p> Sam wasted no time in getting fall-down drunk.  His goal was to kill as many brain cells as possible, in the hopes that he’d kill off all the ones concerned with short-term memory.  If he was lucky, he could black the entire day out and forget it ever happened.  </p><p><br/> Castiel was having less luck with his Everclear, though he was decidedly not sober.  His head tingled pleasantly and he found that he wasn’t worrying so much about the mental health of his human friends.  He felt fine, so surely Dean was fine as well.  And Sam…Well, Sam was self-medicating, and medication was healthy.  He was fairly certain that was how it worked.   </p><p><br/> Dean stumbled into the kitchen, freezing at the sight of Castiel.  He spun on his heel in a perfect about-face and left without a word.  </p><p><br/> “Dean,” Sam sighed, but his brother was already gone.</p><p><br/> Castiel stood up, puzzling at the jelly-like feeling in his legs.  “Dean!”</p><p><br/> “Let him go, Cas.  He’s not ready.”</p><p><br/> “But I could leave, and he could drink with you.”</p><p><br/> “It’s alright, he’ll get over himself.”  Sam nudged Ash with his toe.  “You wanna run a thing of whiskey back to him?  I think that’s what he came down here for.”</p><p><br/> Ash shifted back into a human, not trusting the German Shepherd’s jaws with a full glass bottle, and headed down the hall.  She was about to open the door, but thought better of it, and knocked.</p><p><br/> “Go away, Cas.”</p><p><br/> “Just bringing you booze,” Ash said, tapping the bottle with her fingernails.</p><p><br/> The door opened a crack, and Dean peered out at her.  His eyes swept behind her, as if he was expecting Cas to pop out suddenly and talk to him about feelings and how there was no need to be embarrassed by a series of curses.  </p><p><br/> “Come in.”</p><p><br/> “I can just leave you the bottle if—”</p><p><br/> “No, I…It’s okay.  I need someone to make sure I don’t choke on my own puke when I pass out.”</p><p><br/> Awesome.  He took the bottle from her and took a healthy swig.  Ash glanced at his desk, where he’d cleaned five guns already, and the three empty bottles.  She knew at least one of them had been half empty before, but she wasn’t sure about the others.  He had a higher tolerance than most humans at this point, but could he really drink three full bottles of whiskey?  Or…She tried to read the labels without him noticing.  Two bottles of whiskey on the desk, and one vodka.  </p><p><br/>Dean sat down on his bed and grabbed his laptop, hastily closing any porn windows—he’d rather not think about sex at all right now.  The image of Castiel naked and rubbing up against him was seared into his mind and if he even looked at online smut it was likely to ruin it for him forever.  Instead, he went to Netflix and found Die Hard, because nothing healed mental wounds like watching Bruce Willis kill terrorists.  </p><p><br/> “You ever see Die Hard?”</p><p><br/> Ash leaned against the door.  “Years ago, as a dog.  I wasn’t really paying attention.”</p><p><br/> Dean patted the space next to him.  “Sit.”</p><p><br/> She lingered by the door, not sure if he was really ready for a human companion.  “I could change…”</p><p><br/> He waved a hand dismissively.  “Be human for five seconds.  It’s not gonna kill you.  Come on, sit.  Otherwise I’m just a drunk guy talking to a dog.”  He took a sip of whiskey, keeping the bottle nestled at his hip, because heaven forbid he should run out of booze and remember the last few hours.  </p><p><br/> She sat down next to him and the smell was like a slap in the face.  None of the bottles had been full, she decided, but they’d had enough in them.  Dean’s breath could have been used to sterilize surgical equipment, and he was just getting started.  For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she shouldn’t be lying in bed with him; if the alcohol would lower his inhibitions enough that he would forget about Rules and make a pass at her.  But then she realized that he was drinking to &lt;forget&gt; sex, after having it ruined for him first by satyrs, then by a young writer.  No; if Dean was going to do anything stupid tonight, it wasn’t going to be sexual in nature.  She snuggled up to him, trying to find a position that avoided his breath, and turned her attention to the movie.  Occasionally, he’d interject about something being unrealistic, or how cool a scene was, becoming louder and more vocal about it as he drank his way through the bottle.  Ash nodded off more than once, jolted awake by one of Dean’s comments.  She was pretty sure he wasn’t going to choke on his own vomit, so she didn’t feel bad about falling asleep.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash woke up feeling disoriented.  She seemed to be trapped by an unknown force in the dark next to a lawn mower.  It was stiflingly hot, too—was she back in the Cage?  After a moment of mild panic, she realized she was under a blanket, her nose pressed up against Dean’s chest.  He had his arm around her neck like a child would hug a teddy bear, preventing her from moving; she managed to twist her head sideways and slip out from his grasp, escaping the strong smell of whiskey and stale farts that lingered under the covers.  The lawn mower sound was coming from Dean, who was snoring louder than anyone had a right to.  She saw the bottle wedged between pillows by his head, three-fourths empty.  She picked it up and set it on the nightstand so the rest of it wouldn’t spill.</p><p><br/> It was only 6:00, so Dean would likely be asleep for many more hours.  Ash crept to the door and opened it as quietly as she could, stifling a yell as a body pitched inside.  <br/> Castiel caught himself before he could fall, giving Ash a sheepish look like he hadn’t been standing guard all night outside Dean’s room.  Ash shut the door behind her, motioning for him to follow her out of earshot of the sleeping human.  </p><p><br/> She sniffed.  “Why do you smell like rubbing alcohol?” she asked quietly as they made their way to the living area.</p><p> <br/> “Sam gave me Everclear.”</p><p><br/> “Did…Did you get drunk?”</p><p><br/> Cas looked up thoughtfully.  “I do not believe I was sober.  It was…Pleasant.  But it did not erase my concern for the continuance of our friendship going forward.”</p><p><br/> Ash shrugged.  “They love you.  You’ll be fine, Dean just needs time to get over the…The ‘ick’ factor.  You didn’t…I mean, you didn’t &lt;actually&gt;—”</p><p><br/> “We did not engage in sexual intercourse, no.”</p><p><br/> “Oh,” said Ash, visibly relieved.  “Yeah, you’ll be fine.”</p><p><br/> Sam joined them a few hours later, forgoing his usual healthy breakfast for straight-up bacon.  Because sometimes, the trauma from touching a demon’s vessel’s junk couldn’t be cured by kale alone.  </p><p><br/> “I believe there’s sausage as well, if you’re int—” Castiel said.</p><p><br/> “No,” Sam snapped quickly.  Nothing sausage-shaped for the next six weeks, at least.  </p><p><br/> It took Dean another two hours after Sam to drag himself back into the world.  By that time, Sam had already started making plans for their next hunt.  </p><p><br/> “There’s been another death at the Excalibur,” he announced to his brother, sounding almost excited at the prospect of getting out of the bunker.  “Another newlywed couple, the man murdered, wife is the only suspect at this time, but she claims someone else broke into the room and killed him, same as the others.  I already got us a room off the strip.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s face dropped.  “Off strip?  But—”</p><p><br/> “It’s cheaper and there’s a free breakfast buffet.  We’re not exactly set up to stay at the Bellagio.”</p><p><br/> “Alright, that’s fair.  As long as there’s bacon.”</p><p><br/> “I’m sure there will be bacon, Dean.”<br/> <br/> <br/> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13: Sin City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The boys head to Vegas for some good, old-fashioned ghost hunting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/> “I just want one day where no one is trying to make me have sex with another man,” Dean grumbled as they pulled up to the off-strip Vegas hotel.  “Is that really too much to ask?”</p><p><br/> “You can bitch all you want, at least Cas is your friend.”  Sam shook his head, trying to forget what he’d seen.  “At least you weren’t gonna screw the King of Hell!” </p><p><br/> Dean gave his brother a long look, wondering if he’d get punched by bringing up Ruby.  Eventually he decided against it.  “Yeah, yeah.  But I still have to deal with Cas.  If we’re lucky, you’ll barely have to see Crowley at all.”</p><p><br/> Dean checked them into the hotel and they went to the room to change into their FBI suits.  </p><p><br/> “Check it out!” Dean called from the bathroom. “They have those little soaps and stuff!”</p><p><br/> “There’s a Keurig out here,” Sam called back.  “It’s got a couple pods, too; I’m pretty sure they’re free.”</p><p><br/> Ash sat down on one of the beds and was surprised to smell laundry detergent instead of the usual mix of the last hundred people who slept on it.  “This place is nice.”</p><p><br/> “There’s an outdoor pool, too,” said Sam.  “Not that it’s warm enough to go swimming right now, but still…”</p><p><br/> “Alright, so we’re going to hit up the scene of the crime first and then visit the morgue,” Dean said, emerging from the bathroom.  “Ash, you’ll have to change in the car; this place doesn’t allow pets.  Sam, you’ve got the good leash?”</p><p><br/> Sam pulled a leather leash and collar out of his bag.  “Right here.”</p><p><br/> “Alright, let’s do this.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They encountered their first roadblock in the lobby of their own hotel, in the form of a familiar face.</p><p><br/> “Well, well, well.  If it isn’t the Winchester brothers,” the man smiled.  “What brings you all the way to Sin City?”</p><p><br/> It took Ash a moment to recognize him from the ‘Ghost Facers’ videos.  </p><p><br/> Dean pulled a face like he smelled something unpleasant.  “Ed, right?”</p><p><br/> “Harry,” Harry corrected.  “Ed’s still up in the room, I’m just waiting for him.”</p><p><br/> “What are you doing here?” Sam asked, trying to sound polite and failing.</p><p><br/> “Same thing as you, I’d imagine.  We’re here to get the ghost that’s been killing newlyweds in the Excalibur.”</p><p><br/> &lt;Of course you are&gt;.  “So you’re still Ghost Chasing.  How’s that gone for you?”</p><p><br/> “Ghost Facing.  Well, hits are up on our YouTube channel, but right now we’re working on a deal with Netflix: We get this thing on camera, I’d say that virtually guarantees us our documentary.”</p><p><br/> “You get this thing on camera, I guarantee you someone’s going to get hurt,” Dean replied.  “Why don’t you leave this one to the professionals?”</p><p><br/> “Professionals?” Harry scoffed.  “A couple of hunters?  This is our job, Dean.  You don’t get more professional than us.  What are you supposed to be, anyway?  FBI?  Right—good luck with that.”</p><p><br/> Dean looked at Sam as if to say, &lt;If we kill him now, the case will be a lot easier&gt;, but Sam shook his head.  </p><p><br/> “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady friend?” Harry asked.  “I thought you two didn’t play well with others.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s hands flexed into fists, relaxing when Sam grabbed his shoulder.  “This is Ash.  She’s…Newer to hunting, so she’s been helping us out on a few cases to learn the ropes.”</p><p><br/> Harry thrust his hand out and Ash was compelled to shake it.  “Pleasure to meet you, Ash.  Don’t suppose you’re familiar with ‘Ghost Facers?’”</p><p><br/> “I’ve…Seen a couple clips,” Ash replied, feeling the tension crackle between the Winchesters and the ghost hunter.  </p><p><br/> “Well, maybe we’ll turn you into a fan after this, who knows?”</p><p><br/> The elevator opened and Ed stepped out, followed by several people hauling loads of film equipment and EMF detectors.</p><p> <br/> “Ed, look!  It’s the Winchesters!”</p><p><br/> “Well I’ll be!  You boys are still alive?”</p><p><br/> “Look who’s talking,” Dean growled.</p><p><br/> “You after the Excalibur ghost?” Ed asked, apparently ignoring Dean’s rebuttal.  “I didn’t realize they’d be that popular.”</p><p><br/> “How do you expect to get this thing on camera, anyway?  You don’t even know for sure that it’s a ghost,” Sam pointed out.</p><p><br/> “It can move through locked doors and disappear without a trace,” Ed said.</p><p><br/> “Yeah; so can a demon, and about a dozen other things.”  Sam thought it was a ghost as well, but he wasn’t certain of it; nothing was ever certain in this business until you’d ganked it.</p><p><br/> “It’s a ghost,” Harry said.  “And we’re going to prove it, if you’ll just stay out of our way.  As you know, all of the ghost’s victims so far have been men who were just married at the Excalibur’s chapel and stayed in one of its honeymoon suites.  So while the team holds down the fort here, Ed and Trisha—that’s our new camera girl there—are going to get hitched and spend the night there, see if they can get this thing to make an appearance.  They get an annulment in the morning, we edit the footage and seal the deal with Netflix.  Everybody wins.”</p><p><br/> “It’s going to kill you,” Dean snapped.</p><p><br/> “Come on, kid; this isn’t our first rodeo.  We’ve got salt, iron, EMF…We know what we’re doing.”</p><p><br/> “Clearly,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  “Well, don’t let us hold you back.”  He pulled Sam away from them and Ash followed.  When they were out of hearing range, he said, “They’re going to mess everything up.”</p><p><br/> “So what do we do?”</p><p><br/> “Change of plans.  You and I hit up the morgue; they won’t mess with that end of things, hopefully.  Ash, I need you to stick with them.  See if they find anything useful or you notice anything weird at the casino.  We won’t have a way to communicate with you, which sucks, but we have to make it work.  If you don’t run into us by…Let’s say 4 pm…Head back here.”</p><p><br/> “I can port to you,” she offered.  “That way you don’t have to come all the way back here if you’re still working something out.  I can do it as something small, so no one will notice me.”</p><p><br/> “Okay.  Port to us at 4, then.”  Dean glanced at his brother.  “Sound good?”</p><p><br/> Sam glanced back over his shoulder at the team of Ghost Facers heading out for the day.  He nodded.  “Remember when we could salt and burn a ghost without it becoming a spectator sport?”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Ash ran back to the room to jettison her clothes, cracked the window, and flew out and around to the parking lot.  The Ghost Facers piled their equipment and themselves into two black SUVs and headed out toward the highway.  One of the ‘unpaid interns’ pointed out his window at the little hawk soaring high above them on the thermals.  <br/> “Yeah, you see a lot of those out this way,” Ed said, eyes on the road.</p><p> <br/> “That’s so cool!”</p><p><br/> “We get this ghost on tape, maybe you can get a job on one of those nature shows and get paid to look at that stuff.  Doesn’t have the same level of danger and prestige as ghost hunting, but…Wildlife’s okay, I guess.”</p><p><br/> The intern didn’t feel that his job was particularly prestigious, but he knew better than to argue with Ed’s inflated ego.  He watched as the hawk disappeared ahead of them, near the forest of metal towers that made up the Vegas Strip.  </p><p> </p><p> The casino was loud and flashy, overwhelming to a mouse who’d never been inside one before.  She’d hitched a ride in one of the equipment bags, jumping out when it had been dumped on the floor of the chapel and hiding behind a potted plant.  Above her, Ed and Harry barked orders to their crew and fussed about scripting and lighting.  It took them about fifteen minutes to set up, and then Harry began speaking into a camera about the supposed history of the Excalibur “Honeymoon Ghost.”</p><p><br/> “Does this spirit possess newlywed wives to murder their husbands?  Or does it do the deed itself?  Why does it haunt the Excalibur and prey exclusively on guests in its honeymoon suites?  We’re going to find all these answers right now, on Ghost Facers!”</p><p><br/> The camera panned over to Ed, who was now wearing a suit.  “We believe this ghost is the spirit of one David Hunt.  David married the love of his life, Ellen Sparrow, on March 23, 2012, at the Excalibur’s wedding chapel, where we stand now.  They attended the traditional jousting dinner after, then retired to their room.  Wanting to see the wedding pictures a friend had snapped on Ellen’s phone, David stumbled across a series of images he’d never seen before: Ellen with his brother, Jeremy, followed by pictures of Jeremy naked and pictures of genitals that definitely hadn’t come from David.  Slightly drunk and completely outraged, David confronted his bride and she called Jeremy for help, frightened that David was going to hurt her.  When Jeremy showed up, a fight broke out that resulted in the deaths of both Jeremy and Ellen; distraught, David took his own life.”</p><p><br/> “Since then,” Harry said as the camera cut back to him, “A ghost has haunted the honeymoon suites, occasionally taking the life of another newlywed man.  How does he choose his victims?  Why do some husbands leave untouched, while others meet their untimely end?  We hope to find out today.  Ed is about to marry Trisha and spend the night in one of these haunted rooms.  If they’re still alive in the morning, they’ll get an annulment, and hopefully we’ll know the truth behind…&lt;Excalibur’s Honeymoon Ghost&gt;.”</p><p><br/> Sick of listening to them talk, Ash crept around the chapel looking for anything that a ghost might possibly be tied to.  Far above her head, at the back of the chapel was a large wooden cross and some flowers.  Just as she was wondering if the cross was important, one of the crew members waved an EMF device at it.  Nothing happened.  &lt;Okay, so it’s not that&gt;…Unless their EMF device was crap, which was a definite possibility.  </p><p><br/> A jittery young man appeared, stating he was their justice of the peace.  He looked nervously around at all the ghost-catching equipment, and Harry briefly explained to him what they were doing.  The look he gave Harry suggested that he thought they were all completely off their rockers, but he’d dealt with stranger things in this job and just said it was time to start the ceremony.  </p><p><br/> Ash listened to the prefabricated wedding script (nondenominational) with interest.  The language was a bit flowery but the overall gist of the ceremony seemed to be that two people were joining together for the rest of their lives, and/or all eternity, depending on one’s views of the afterlife (which the non-denominational script left open to interpretation).  Ed and Tricia opted not to kiss each other (Tricia looked mortified at the thought, from Ash’s viewpoint), and the ceremony ended with the signing of the marriage license.</p><p><br/> She jumped back into a bag as the group headed up several floors to their suite.  Harry and Ed barked orders to the interns about where cameras should be placed, how to set up their EMF readers, and where they needed salt lines.  Ed and Trisha were given headsets to communicate with the others, who would be across the hall in a non-honeymoon-themed suite.  It took them almost all day to get everything up and running properly; time that Ash used to search the room for anything unusual.   There was a king-sized bed that started to vibrate whenever anyone bumped into it, which kept spooking one of the youngest interns.  There were two nightstands on either side of the bed and a large dresser across from it, on top of which was mounted an enormous flat-screen TV.  Mounted to the ceiling above the bed there was a mirror, which flummoxed Ash as well as one of the female interns until Harry explained it was so that people could watch themselves having hot newlywed sex.  There was also a small table and two plush chairs, a mini fridge, coffee maker, and microwave, none of which gave any sign of being tied to a suicidal killer ghost.  The bathroom had an impressive whirlpool tub but Harry warned that the jets probably hadn’t been cleaned ever, and turning it on could release an ungodly amount of other people’s hair and skin cells.  </p><p><br/> Having found nothing of any importance, Ash ported to Dean just after 4:00.  He and Sam were at the Excalibur’s bar, discussing the case over beers, when she popped into existence several feet above his head.  She fell onto his shoulder with a tiny, indignant squeak and he nearly spilled his beer.  Dean brushed at his shoulder reflexively, his brain automatically jumping to &lt;holy shit it’s a giant spider&gt;, and only after he’d knocked the mouse onto the floor did he realize what had happened.  </p><p><br/> “Shit, you scared the crap outta me,” he muttered, bending down under the pretense of tying his shoe.  “You better be Ash, or this place has a serious rodent problem.”  <br/> The little mouse’s eyes flashed blue and he sighed in relief.  “Alright, just uh…Hide under my sleeve and we’ll get you changed up.  I’ve got your stuff out in the car.”<br/> He had to resist the urge to swat at her again as she ran up his hand and under his sleeve, her tiny little paws clinging to his skin.  </p><p><br/> “You okay, Dean?” Sam asked, leaning over to check on his brother.</p><p><br/> “I have Ash,” Dean said through gritted teeth.  “Gonna take her out to the car.”  He held his forearm parallel to the floor against his stomach, trying to find a way to look casual and failing.  He knew if he tilted his arm down, Ash would either fall off or dig her tiny little nails in harder, which wouldn’t hurt but they tickled like hell.  He moved as quickly as he could through the crowded casino and made his way through the parking garage to Baby.  Unlocking the car, he held his arm out to the back seat and felt the odd tickle of little mouse feet running across his skin.  Once she was on the seat, he shut the door and turned around to lean against it as casually as possible.  &lt;There’s definitely not a mouse turning into a human and changing in this car right now&gt;, that was the vibe he was aiming for.</p><p><br/> Ash changed into the jeans and shirt they’d left for her and got out of the opposite passenger side door.  </p><p><br/> “You good?” Dean asked.  </p><p><br/> “Didn’t find anything Sam wouldn’t already know through Google,” she said, stepping into line beside him as he walked back toward the casino.  “The little church place didn’t set off their EMF stuff, and neither did anything in their room, but their equipment could be faulty.”</p><p><br/> “Wouldn’t surprise me.  Nothing spectacular at the morgue, either: Victims died from multiple stab wounds.  Body of our current victim did set the EMF off, which we expected—I do think it’s a ghost, I just don’t know how it’s haunting people here or why it’s choosing the victims it does.  It’s got to be one of the three people that died in that love triangle thing—”</p><p><br/> “Harry and Ed think it’s David, the one that killed his wife and brother.”</p><p><br/> “He was cremated; if he’s haunting the hotel, he has to be tied to an object here.”</p><p><br/> “What about the others?  Are they buried nearby?”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “The wife’s body was returned to her parents in California.  She’s buried somewhere just north of San Diego.  His brother was cremated.”</p><p><br/> “So they have to be tied to an object here, then.”</p><p><br/> “Gotta be, unless someone else died here we don’t know about.”</p><p><br/> They rejoined Sam at the bar and ordered another round of drinks.  Sam and Dean argued for a while about playing the slots, then focused back on how to handle the Ghost Facers.  </p><p><br/> “We need to keep an eye on them,” Dean said.  “Ash can stay with them tonight, in case they’re attacked.”</p><p><br/> “I don’t know if I can do anything against a ghost,” Ash said.  </p><p><br/> “Maybe not, but you can drag their human asses out of there when shit goes south.”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “Hey…Isn’t marriage basically just a demon deal between people?”</p><p><br/> Sam snorted.  “What?”</p><p><br/> “Sorry, I’ve been thinking about it all day.  They’re essentially selling their souls to each other, in return for the other person’s soul, and then they kiss to make it a binding contract.”</p><p><br/> “Well that’s not exactly—I mean, you’re not really &lt;selling&gt; your soul, and it’s not like the other person really &lt;owns&gt; it,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “Though you ask any married guy, he’ll tell you he’s lost his soul to his wife,” Dean smirked.</p><p><br/> “Just the unhappy ones,” Sam said.  “There are people that genuinely like each other.”</p><p><br/> “Oh come on.  Even Bobby would joke about that, and he freakin’ loved the hell out of his wife.  It’s just something people say.  So yeah, in that sense, it’s kinda like a demon deal.  Except you can get annulled, or divorced, so it’s not really a for-all-eternity thing.”</p><p><br/> “But it’s &lt;essentially&gt; the same as a demon deal,” Ash said, determined to translate the human custom in a way that made sense to her.</p><p><br/> “Yes, fine,” Sam said.  “If it makes sense to think of it that way, it’s like a deal.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash slipped under the door of the Ghost Facer’s suite and hid under the dresser, waiting.  Ed and Trisha returned around 8 pm after their traditional newlywed dinner at the Medieval-times style jousting banquet, just as all the couples who were attacked had done, and began salting the room.  Ed grabbed a handheld camera, attaching it to a small tripod, and started his spiel again.  </p><p><br/> “Okay, so Trisha and I are officially newlyweds.  We got married in the chapel as you saw earlier, and just got back from dinner at the Excalibur’s famous Medieval Tournament Banquet, which the other victims went to on the night of their weddings as well.  Now we’re creating ‘safe zones’ out of salt around the bed and bathroom to protect us when the ghost appears.  Assuming he appeared just before the brides reported their new husbands’ attacks, there’s no set time that he shows himself.  All we can do now…Is wait.”</p><p> </p><p> Sam sat up in bed with his laptop, still trying to make sense of the killings.  “Hundreds of people must stay there every year.  So why are only a handful of them victims?”</p><p><br/> Dean yawned, rolling over.  The bed felt sadly empty without Ash.  “Maybe they all had cheating wives.  Or cheating husbands—would make sense to kill the cheater, right?”</p><p><br/> “It would.  Although, if they cheated on their wives, the wives apparently didn’t know about it.  Maybe it’s the wives who were cheating, since that matches the original situation.  But then why would the ghost want to kill their husbands, if the husbands were innocent?”</p><p><br/> “None of this makes any sense, dude.  Ghosts are just dead people, and people are crazy.  We’ll figure it out.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> It was 1:23 am according to the digital clock beside the bed.  Trisha was asleep, lying across the foot of the bed, and Ed was sitting at the table, head propped up in one hand, snoring.  Ash felt the room temperature drop, and snapped out of her half-asleep state, instantly on edge.  Something dropped from a vent in the wall, landing silently on the carpet; Ash ran to the other end of the dresser to get a better look. It was a simple gold wedding band.  As she watched, the ring rose into the air and a ghost solidified, wearing it on its finger.  It was a man—probably David, judging by the old picture she’d seen of him earlier.  &lt;So these hacks were actually right about something&gt;, she thought.  &lt;Better wake up fast, guys…&gt;</p><p><br/> The ghost of David sat down on the bed next to Trisha, but the mattress didn’t dip like it should have for a human.  He pushed a stray lock of hair off of her face and ran his hand down her cheek; she mumbled something in her sleep and rolled onto her back.  Ash ran across the room to Ed as David continued to play with the intern’s hair; he seemed to be treating her with reverence, as if she was his dead wife.  This was confirmed for Ash a moment later when he murmured, “Never going to let anyone hurt you again, Ellen.  Never going to hurt you again.”</p><p><br/> Ash bit Ed’s foot and he bolted awake.  “Holy shit!” he hissed, scrambling to turn on the camera in front of him.  “Trisha!  Trisha, wake up!”</p><p><br/> Trisha groaned and opened her eyes, staring up into the ghost’s face.  She screamed.</p><p><br/> The ghost flinched backward, standing up.  “What’s wrong, Ellen?  Don’t you recognize me?”</p><p><br/> “Get away from me!” Trisha yelled, falling off the far side of the bed in her effort to get away.  “I’m not your dead wife!”</p><p><br/> “Trisha, calm down!” Ed hissed.  “You’re going to upset him!”</p><p><br/> “He’s a homicidal ghost!” Trisha growled.  “You don’t think he’s already upset?  I thought you salted around the damn bed!”</p><p><br/> Ed could see the gap in the salt from where he stood.  “I told you not to step in it—you broke the line!  Look, just…Stay calm.  We’re rolling.”</p><p><br/> “You,” David said, turning his attention to Ed.  “I trusted you!”  He darted forward, faster than a human could move.  </p><p><br/> Ed glanced toward the safety of the bathroom and its still intact salt line.  “Now hold on a minute, David.  I’m not who you think I am—”</p><p><br/> “Damn straight,” David growled, pulling a box cutter from his pocket.  He flipped it open with his thumb, revealing the simple but sharp blade.  “You are not my brother.  My brother would not betray me!”</p><p><br/> &lt;The murder weapon&gt;, Ed thought with glee, a feeling that quickly turned to horror when he realized it was intended for him and he had no clear line of escape.  He shuffled back as the ghost advanced, until he found himself backed into the wall.  Ed held his hands up defensively.  “Hold on, David, I’m not—”</p><p><br/> David’s image shimmered, and suddenly he was right in Ed’s face.  Ed squealed as the knife arced down toward his head—</p><p><br/> A low, guttural growl came from behind the ghost; he paused with the knife almost at Ed’s eye and turned to find the cause.  David took in the hellhound in front of him and changed his grip on the knife.  He looked confused and even a little nervous.  </p><p><br/> “Don’t think you can hurt me,” David said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.  </p><p><br/> &lt;Don’t think you’re going to Hell after you killed your wife and brother?&gt; Ash thought to him, hoping he’d be able to hear.  &lt;You think that’s the kind of stuff that gives you a free pass upstairs?&gt;</p><p><br/> David hesitated; he &lt;could&gt; hear her, then.  “Didn’t want to kill her.  ‘S an accident.  Would never hurt my Ellen.”  He took two steps backward, walking into and through Ed, who passed out.  “I can fix it,” he said, as if he hadn’t even felt the human’s presence.  “You gotta let me fix it.”</p><p><br/> Before Ash could get another word in, he disintegrated into a spectral cloud and disappeared back through the vent, sucking the ring with him.  It clanked against the metal ductwork for a bit before all trace of him was gone.  </p><p><br/> The room was silent for a moment before Trisha spoke up: “Ed?”  She stumbled over to him and shook his shoulders, frequently snapping her eyes up to the spot where Ash stood, aware that the ghost had been speaking to something right where she was, and also that there was a sort of breathing noise from her direction.  Trisha had just wanted another gig for her resume; she thought the Ghost Facers were full of shit, and never imagined she’d come across a real ghost.  Oh sure, they’d told her it would be dangerous and scary, but she’d imagined lots of dark basements and pre-planned jump-scares.  </p><p><br/> “Where is he?” Ed gasped, bolting upright.  </p><p><br/> “Gone,” Trisha said, her voice sounding unnaturally high.  “Air vent.”  She glanced back at the spot of air the ghost had been looking at, and almost thought she could see dark spots on the carpet, like footprints.  She shook her head; the room was poorly lit, it was probably just dirt from their shoes they’d tracked in earlier.  “Do you hear anything?”</p><p><br/> Ed listened for a moment.  “What is it?”</p><p><br/> Trisha cocked her head to the side.  “I thought…I thought I heard breathing, but it’s gone now…”<br/> </p><p> </p><p><br/> Sam and Dean bolted out of bed at the sound of something crashing in the bathroom.  Sam had his gun drawn and Dean had the demon knife as they ducked inside: The room looked empty, but the shower curtain and rod had fallen to the floor.  Just as Dean was about to say, ‘looks like the tension gave out,’ he heard the familiar blood-chilling breath of a hellhound.  Glancing at Sam, he knew his brother heard it, too.  Sam’s gun would be useless, but the demon knife could hurt it—he motioned for Sam to get behind him.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?” he hissed.  “That better be you.”  Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could kind of make out a darker shadow in the dark of the room, and hear the click of its claws against the linoleum.  </p><p><br/> The shadow solidified and shrank into a perfectly ordinary dog.  </p><p><br/> “You scared the Hell out of us!”</p><p><br/> Ash whined, trying to look apologetic; the boys sagged with relief.</p><p> <br/> “Anybody dead?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.</p><p><br/> “Right.  I’m going back to bed.  You can tell me about it in the morning.”  Dean yawned and stowed the knife back under his pillow, climbing back under the covers and motioning for Ash to hop up next to him.  </p><p><br/> “You saw the ghost?” Sam asked, putting the safety back on his gun and getting back into his own bed.  </p><p><br/> Ash nodded and curled up against her human.  </p><p><br/> “Was it the—”</p><p><br/> “Later, Sam,” Dean grumbled.  “Go back to sleep.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> In the morning, Ash filled them in on what she’d seen over the complimentary breakfast buffet.</p><p><br/> “It must be the ring,” Sam said.  “He’s moving it with him—not common, but not unheard of, either.  Bobby hunted a ghost once that haunted a suitcase and had learned how to carry it with him.  Made it all the way across the country to kill the guy that killed &lt;him&gt;, but by then he’d gone  crazy and started killing all kinds of people.”</p><p><br/> “So if he keeps it on him, how are we supposed to get it?”  He tilted his head.  “And how do you burn gold?”</p><p><br/> “Dragon fire,” Ash said.  </p><p><br/> “But how do we get it?” Dean asked again.  “It’s like that weird book you like, Sam, where they have to throw a ring into a volcano to save the world—”</p><p><br/> “Lord of the Rings?” Ash asked.</p><p><br/> “You know it?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, one of my humans was really into it.  I read the books while they were at work, and we’d watch the movies together.”</p><p><br/> “Aw, Sam, you have a fellow nerd.”  Dean patted his brother condescendingly.  “You like Harry Potter too?”</p><p><br/> Ash looked at him in surprise.  “You don’t?”</p><p><br/> “So about the ghost,” Sam said, steering them back on track.  “I think the only way to get this ring is to summon it again.  And the only way to summon it is by having a couple that meets…Whatever its criteria is…Get hitched at this chapel and spend the night upstairs.”</p><p><br/> “Right.  We can have Ed and Trisha stay another night, right?  They seem to fit the bill.”</p><p><br/> “Uh, about that.”  Sam had been up before the others and done a little of his own recon with the Ghost Facer team.  “Trisha’s gone.  Guess she wasn’t expecting to see a real ghost, and freaked the hell out.”</p><p><br/> “Huh.  Alright, did they have a backup plan?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, Harry and the other woman, Susan.  So they’ll do the whole rigamarole and try again tonight.  We should move to the Excalibur: No more of this driving back and forth.  We convince them to give us an extra key, hide outside their door, and jump in when he shows up.  Ash hides in the room like she did last night, in case things go south.  And today, I’ll see if I can work out what all the victims have in common.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> After last night’s activity, tonight was extremely anticlimactic.  Hidden under the dresser, Ash watched Harry and Susan fight to stay awake hour after hour.  They watched TV (on silent, so they could hear if anything approached), read magazines, drank way too much espresso and coffee, and slapped themselves in the face to avoid nodding off as Trisha and Ed had done.  They even had a discussion about whether or not the ghost &lt;needed&gt; them to fall asleep before he’d show up, and Harry had to explain to Susan that ghosts were not like Santa Claus.  </p><p><br/> Nothing happened.  There was no ghostly appearance, the room didn’t get cold, and there was no clink of a wedding ring in the vents.  Harry packed up their equipment in the morning and they left, back to the proverbial drawing board.  On their way past Sam and Dean (who’d fallen asleep outside their door), Sam stopped him to ask:<br/> “Hey Harry, you got any brothers or sisters?”</p><p><br/> “Two sisters,” Harry answered.  “Why?  You think it matters?”</p><p><br/> “Maybe.  Ed?”</p><p><br/> “One brother.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Thanks.”</p><p><br/> With the film crew retiring back to base to go over footage and construct a new plan, Sam and Dean went to their new room inside the Excalibur.  Still half-asleep, Dean didn’t notice the mouse clinging to the top of his boot until he went to kick it off.  She hopped away and shifted into a dog, then curled up at the foot of the bed: She’d stayed awake all last night and was feeling less than stellar.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Dean yawned and stretched, trying to get the kinks out of his neck from sleeping upright against a door.  “So what’s the deal with siblings?” he asked Sam.  “You wanted to know about Ed and Harry’s family?”</p><p><br/> Sam made them a pot of coffee and bent forward to stretch his back.  “Brothers,” he said.  “The dead guy—ghost,” he said, shaking his head, “He had one brother, and his girlfriend-slash-wife had been cheating with him.”</p><p><br/> Dean accidentally sat on Ash’s tail.  “Sorry, kid.  So—” he paused to yawn again, and flopped onto his back, falling asleep mid-sentence.</p><p> <br/> Sam smacked him until he woke up.  “It’s brothers.  All the victims, they were straight men with one brother.  No gay couples have been attacked at all, so I didn’t bother to look at those.  But all the couples who were attacked, the groom had one brother and no other siblings.  Ed saw the ghost because he has one brother; Harry didn’t because he has two sisters.”</p><p><br/> Dean looked like was going to fall asleep again, but rallied when he saw Sam’s hand draw back for another hit.  “So what’re you saying?”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  “I’m saying, I figured it out.  We know how to summon him.”</p><p><br/> “Okay.  Okay.”  Dean sat up and rubbed at his eyes.  “So we…We find someone with a brother, someone who’s not a friggin’ Ghost Chaser, to marry some chick—does it matter about the chick?”</p><p><br/> “No, not as far as I can tell.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, so he marries a chick, the ghost comes, Ash burns the ring and we’re good.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, Dean.  That’s it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Several hours’ sleep later, Dean woke up to find that Sam had a fully-constructed battle plan already set up.  </p><p><br/> “So, here’s the plan,” Sam said, acting far more awake than either Dean or Ash felt.  “We need a man with one brother to get married at the chapel and stay in the honeymoon suite to summon the ghost.  That man is going to be you.”</p><p><br/> Dean laughed.  “Me?”</p><p><br/> “We’ll use one of your aliases; you won’t even need to get it annulled.  We’ve been letting the Ghost Facers goof around with this stuff, but we need to cut out the middle man, do this ourselves like we normally do.  We can’t wait around for somebody else to summon him; he’ll just kill them before we can get to them, and then we’re back at the beginning.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, I see your point.  Just us, straight up salt-and-burn.  So who the hell am I gettin’ hitched to?”</p><p><br/> Sam nodded to the dog.  Ash whined.</p><p><br/> “Hang on; why me?”</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “I figured, you like her anyway.  But I can, if you’d rather—”</p><p><br/> “No, I’ll do it,” Dean said quickly.  “Did you remember to bring her paperwork, at least?  Birth certificate, license, social security—”</p><p><br/> “All in the trunk.”  They’d forged her documentation a while ago, just in case she needed to prove that she was human.  </p><p><br/> Ash growled and jumped off the bed.</p><p><br/> “Come on, Ash,” Sam said, “It’s easier than trying to get some random girl to marry him—not to mention the legal ramifications if something goes wrong—and safer than putting a civilian in danger—”</p><p><br/> She grabbed a dress from their bags and disappeared into the bathroom to change.</p><p><br/> “I get why you can’t just grab someone off the street, Sam,” Ash snapped before she’d even emerged.  “And I don’t think your plan is stupid.”  She stepped out of the bathroom and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.  </p><p><br/> “So you’re okay with it then?”</p><p><br/> She looked at him for a long moment, and her face twitched.  “Fine.  Yes.  To catch your stupid ghost, before those idiots get themselves killed.” </p><p><br/> “I already checked, and the chapel has an opening at 2 pm today.  We can go talk to the coordinator and get everything set up.”</p><p><br/> Ash cleared her throat.  “Um, question: How do we get the ring off of the ghost?  Cause he seemed pretty attached to it.”</p><p><br/> Sam smiled.  “Well, you could always bite it off his finger like Gollum.”</p><p><br/> “Okay, enough with the Lord of the Rings crap,” Dean said.  “We shoot the guy until he disappears, and the ring should stay behind since it’s solid.”</p><p><br/> “I’m not so sure about that,” Sam countered.  “A powerful ghost could cause a small object like that to vanish—transport it a small distance, like into plumbing or ductwork.  We don’t know how strong this guy is, but he’s clearly able to move the ring, so we have no reason to believe he couldn’t send it somewhere without touching it as well.”</p><p><br/> Dean huffed.  “Well I’ve never seen anything bite a ghost before, so good luck with &lt;your&gt; plan!”</p><p><br/> “Guess we’ll do what we always do, then,” Sam sighed.  “Wing it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean leaned against the concierge counter while the perky young woman stepped out back to put their paperwork together.  </p><p><br/>“All set!  We’ll see you this evening at six thirty, Mr. Potter!”</p><p><br/> Dean smiled and thanked her; as soon as he and Sam stepped away from her desk, he snapped: “Really, Sammy?  Potter?”</p><p><br/> Sam looked pleased with himself.  “It was the first one I could find,” he said happily, referring to Dean’s forged birth certificate.  They’d turned in paperwork for Dean Potter and Ashley McLeod (which Dean had also thought was in bad taste, though Ash herself had suggested using Crowley’s human surname when they made her identity).  </p><p><br/> “Whatever.  Come on, we better get the room ready.”</p><p><br/> They headed up to their new accommodation in the honeymoon suite, adjacent to the one the Ghost Facers had been in the previous night.  Ash had gone up earlier, sneaking under the door as a mouse and squeezing into the air vent to see if she could find any possessed rings in the casino’s ductwork.</p><p><br/> Sam sat down on the king-sized bed and jumped up immediately when it began to vibrate; Dean laughed and was no help at all in finding the ‘off’ switch, which was located rather inconveniently on the headboard, behind the stack of pillows.  </p><p><br/> “Hey Sammy, look up,” Dean said as Sam turned the bed off. </p><p><br/> Sam flipped over and discovered a mirror on the ceiling, almost the size of the bed.  “You know, I never understood people who want to watch themselves.  Real life isn’t like porn,” he said, raising an eyebrow at his brother like this would be news to him.  “Most people are not that attractive.”</p><p><br/> Dean kicked the bed experimentally, giggling when it turned back on.  Sam huffed and flicked the switch off again.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah, I get that.  And normally I’d agree with you.  But after—I mean, since…Occurrences,” Dean said vaguely, “There’s something to be said for knowing exactly who and what you’re fucking.”  He shuddered, trying to clear his mind of middle-aged, flabby men.</p><p><br/> Sam slid off the bed and shivered, mirroring his brother’s disgust.  “We agreed we’d never talk about that again.”</p><p><br/> Dean looked at his brother innocently.  “Talk about what?”</p><p><br/> Sam stared at him for a beat.  “Right.  Nothing.”  </p><p><br/> Dean grabbed a box out of his bag and started salting along the bathroom door, then made a wide circle in the open space of the room.  Sam grabbed iron crowbars and set them out on the table and bed; they couldn’t use guns on the ghost with people so close by, unless they wanted the police called, so they’d have to fend it off with iron until they could destroy its ring.  </p><p><br/> A noise in the air vent drew their attention toward the floor, and a moment later a mouse scurried out.  </p><p><br/> “Clothes in the bathroom,” Sam said.  </p><p><br/> “Don’t smudge the salt line,” Dean warned as she scampered away.  </p><p><br/> Ash hopped over the salt and changed into the dress Sam had laid out for her.  “I couldn’t find any sign of him,” she announced, sitting down at the little table.  “But the ducts go on forever—this place is huge.  I must’ve covered a tenth of the space, if that.”</p><p><br/> “That’s alright,” Dean said.  “We’ll get him tonight.  Just have to set fire to gold; how hard can it be?”</p><p><br/> “Oh!”  Sam jolted to life, digging through his bag until he retrieved a small pouch.  He placed it on the table and let a gold ring roll out.  “Dad’s wedding ring.  Don’t set it on fire, but maybe you could try moving it?  You know, with your Nephilim mojo?”</p><p><br/> Dean glanced sideways at his brother.  “You carry that with you?”</p><p><br/> Sam shrugged.  “I’ve been meaning to take it out, but I never think of it when we’re home.”  He stepped back and nodded to Ash.  “Go ahead—try it.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked down at the ring.  She’d moved large things before, like people (or people-shaped beings, at any rate), but never something this small.  Should be easy, right?  She felt for her power, and pushed.</p><p><br/> The table slid backwards and toppled over, sending the ring rolling across the floor.  Dean ran after the ring, and Sam put the table back in place.</p><p><br/> “Maybe a little less mojo this time,” Dean suggested.  He stood behind Ash, just in case.</p><p><br/> Ash tried again, and again the table moved, though it didn’t tip over.  Standing up, she walked over to where it now was and pushed out with her energy again: The table wobbled and vibrated.</p><p><br/> “I don’t get it.”</p><p><br/> “You almost had it.  Try again,” Sam encouraged.  </p><p><br/> Ash stared at the ring, focusing all of her energy on it and ignoring everything else: The room, the boys, the table all dropped out of her vision.  Slowly, the ring began to rise.  As she reached her hand out toward it, it suddenly flew away from her and ricocheted off the wall.</p><p><br/> Dean clapped his hands together.  “Well, that seems…Fine.  Who’s hungry?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They hit up the all-you-can-eat buffet, and Dean was like a kid in a candy store, but Ash looked glum.</p><p><br/> “You’re not a Jedi knight,” Sam pointed out.  “Nobody expects you to have finesse.”</p><p><br/> “I bet an angel could do it,” she grumbled.</p><p><br/> “An angel wouldn’t know finesse if it bit him in the ass,” Dean said through a mouthful of fries.  “They smite shit and blow stuff up.  Demons, on the other hand…They’re better at that sort of slight-of-hand thing.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked up at him in surprise.  “You’re right--Crowley can move small objects, but I’ve never seen Castiel mess with anything smaller than a person.”</p><p><br/> “So don’t worry about it,” Sam said.  “Like I said, just bite the darn thing off if you have to.”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head and sighed.  “Yeah, you may be right on this one.  I still don’t know if it’s possible to bite a ghost, but if you can get the ring in your mouth, it kinda has to go where you go.”</p><p><br/> “He was nervous about the hellhound.  I bet that could bite him.”</p><p><br/> Dean tensed: After being on the receiving end of a hellhound attack, he wasn’t a fan of the beasts.  &lt;It’s just Ash, she’s not going to rip you apart and drag you to Hell&gt;, he thought.  &lt;Although she could…&gt;</p><p><br/> Ash’s face went pale suddenly.  “Ugh.”</p><p><br/> Sam sat up straighter and leaned across the table.  “You okay?”</p><p><br/> “I…”  She shook her head.  “Yeah, I’m good.  Just felt…Weird.”  She stood up slowly, leaning on the table for support.  “Just need some air.  I’m…Gonna step outside for a second.”</p><p><br/> Sam stood up.  “I’ll come with you.”</p><p><br/> She waved him away.  “I’ll be fine.”</p><p><br/> Ash made her way out of the crowded restaurant and through the casino to the main entrance, stepping out into the parking bay.  She must have eaten something that didn’t agree with her: She felt nauseous and a little light-headed, and her heart was pounding.  </p><p><br/> No—it wasn’t the food.  It was adrenaline, so much of it all at once that it was making her feel sick.  But that didn’t make sense—she was nervous about the ghost, sure; and if she was being honest, she had some anxiety about kissing Dean, even if it was just for the job; but this wasn’t that.  It was end-of-the-world, run-like-your-life-depends-on-it adrenaline, but the world wasn’t ending, and her body didn’t know how to process it.  She reached out with her mind, trying to connect with Crowley to ask him about it, and was met with a jumbled mess of fear, anger, and panic.</p><p><br/> &lt;So he’s panicking; the adrenaline I’m feeling is coming from him.&gt;  But what could terrify the King of Hell so badly that she’d be able to feel it?  Sure, they were connected, but it was usually only a problem for Crowley, having to deal with Ash’s barrage of human emotions.  He hadn’t felt anything strong enough for her to sense until now.  Considering everyone in Hell, Earth and Heaven was out to get him, he had a fairly thick skin, and an ordinary crisis like a demon uprising would hardly register as end-of-the-world to him.  The only person she could think of that really frightened him was Lucifer, and he was locked up in the Cage.  </p><p><br/> Ash found a bench that was mostly shielded from foot traffic by bushes.  She sat down and tried to get her breathing back under control: At first, she hadn’t even realized she was hyperventilating, but when her hands and feet started to tingle she realized she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.  So she sat and shivered and tried to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth, counting to four each time.  </p><p><br/> She sat outside for more time than she probably should have: They had a ghost to exterminate, after all.  Just as she was steeling herself to get back up and go inside, Dean found her.</p><p><br/> “Hey.”  He sat down next to her.  “You okay?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I—I was just about to come find you.  Sorry; I should have taken a phone…”</p><p><br/> “It’s fine.  We don’t have to be at the chapel for another half hour.”</p><p><br/> “Chapel?”</p><p> “The ceremony.  So we can gank David’s ghost, or whoever the hell he’s supposed to be?”</p><p><br/> “Right.  Right.”  Ash shook her head to clear it.  </p><p><br/> Dean glanced at her sideways.  “You sure you’re okay?  You still look a little…Gray.”</p><p><br/> “Fine,” she said, but her voice cracked.  She cleared her throat.  “It’s…It’s not me.  It’s Crowley.”</p><p><br/> “Crowley?  He was here?”</p><p><br/> “No.  What I…Whatever’s going on with me, it’s him.  He’s panicking.”  She stood up and shook out her arms, still feeling the anxiety racing through her.  “But it’s okay.  He’s not dead; I would feel it if he was.”  &lt;Well that was morbid; where’d that thought come from?&gt;</p><p><br/> Dean’s eyebrows knit together, and suddenly Ash wished she’d hadn’t mentioned Crowley at all.  “Crowley is panicking?”</p><p><br/> “I’m sure he’ll handle whatever it is,” Ash said, firmly not believing her own words.  “He’d contact me if he wanted my help.”  &lt;Unless he can’t contact you because someone’s done something to him…&gt;</p><p><br/> Dean stood and they headed back inside.  “Alright, well…Just keep me posted about what’s goin’ on.  If you need to tap out—”</p><p><br/> “No,” Ash snapped.  “If there’s one things I’ve learned from you guys, it’s to keep working and worry about a crisis later.  I’m going to kill that ghost.”</p><p><br/> “Right.  Fine.  Then we should probably avoid—”</p><p><br/> “Dean!  Just the man I was looking for!”  Ed scurried toward him, followed by Harry and a few of their crew members.   </p><p><br/> “They’re still here?” Ash groaned.</p><p><br/> Dean stepped smoothly in front of her.  “Ed.  I thought you gave up after last night?”</p><p><br/> “Hah!  Never.  We’ve got real footage, and we’re going to get more.  I just stopped by the chapel to see if I could connect with any of the couples, and lo and behold I see your name on there!  Well, ‘Potter,’ but I saw Dean and Ashley and figured that couldn’t be a coincidence.  You know who the ghost goes after, don’t you?  How he chooses his victims?”</p><p><br/> “Just a hunch,” Dean said evasively.</p><p><br/> “Don’t suppose you’d mind us filming you taking it out?”</p><p><br/> Dean’s eyes narrowed.  “Yeah, I’d mind.  We’re not actors on some show, Ed; this is our job.  Our &lt;life&gt;.  You chase after monsters all you want, but keep us out of your videos.”</p><p><br/> Ed looked like he’d been kicked.  “We can blur your faces, even change your voices.  We just want to see the ghost.”</p><p><br/> &lt;Gonna have to blur a lot more than Ash’s face to hide what she is&gt;, Dean thought.  “I think you saw enough of him last time.”</p><p><br/> “Dean, please—”</p><p><br/> “Hold on,” Ash said, stepping around so she was next to Dean.  “Your cameras—do they have live feeds through the Internet, or is the video all…Contained…On the device?”</p><p><br/> “All our cameras use SD cards,” Harry explained.  “There’s no way to transmit it live like you could with a security camera.”</p><p><br/> “Ash, what…?”</p><p><br/> “Let them set up their cameras.  They’re going to do something idiotic if we don’t, and we’ll have to save their asses &lt;again&gt;.  We’ll have the cameras, we can go through and edit out any stuff we don’t want them to see.  Right?”</p><p><br/> Ed cleared his throat.  “But what wouldn’t you want—”</p><p><br/> “Industry secrets,” Dean snapped, seeing along the same lines as the Nephilim now.  “Okay.  You set up the cameras.  We gank your ghost.  But we get to look through all the footage and wipe out anything we don’t want you to air, before you get it back.  That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”</p><p><br/> “Deal,” Harry said quickly, and Ed nodded soon after.  Harry stuck his hand out to shake on it, and Ash blinked, having momentarily forgotten that only demons still kissed on deals (and people getting married, apparently).  Dean shook his hand.</p><p><br/> “Ooh!  We should document everything, though,” Ed said, “Like we did with us.”</p><p><br/> “You’re right,” Harry replied.  “We should get the ceremony and the dinner, see if we can pick up any abnormalities.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Dean grumbled.  “Fine.  Just stay out of the way.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean and Ash reconnected with Sam outside of the chapel, and Dean filled him in on recent news.  </p><p><br/> “Crowley?” Sam frowned.  “What could freak him out?  Even if he was being hunted by an army of angels, I don’t see him as the sort to panic about it.”</p><p><br/> “He’d just be more pissed off than usual,” Ash said.  “Only thing I can think of that could make him this anxious is if something happened to the Cage.”</p><p><br/> Sam went rigid, clenching his jaw.  “That’s impossible.”</p><p><br/> Ash shrugged.  “You got out.  Not impossible to think some of the loyalists wouldn’t work together to free Lucifer.”  She shook as a nervous shiver ran down her spine.  “It’s probably just something to do with his mother.  You know how she drives him crazy.”</p><p><br/> Sam gave a nervous little laugh.  “Yeah.  Rowena.  I’m sure that’s it.”</p><p><br/> “Potter?” a woman called, and Ash nearly jumped out of her skin.  Across the hall, a fake potted plant tipped over.</p><p><br/> “So, this will be fun,” Sam muttered under his breath.</p><p><br/> “Anything happens, just blame it on the ghost,” Dean muttered back.  “You good, kid?”</p><p><br/> Ash dug her nails into the palms of her hands, breathing hard.  She felt tight and hot and like someone had stuck hundreds of little pins into her heart.  Her vision went white for a moment, then returned to normal.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Good.”  She managed to straighten and look up at them.  “Totally human.”  She winced as a row of candles inside the chapel window lit themselves, but no one else seemed to notice.  </p><p><br/> Ash was vaguely aware, over the pounding of blood in her ears, that normal-people-things were happening around her.  She jumped when Dean nudged her forward, but recovered quickly and managed to focus on the perky woman who escorted them inside the little church-like room.  It was set up exactly the same as before: A few pews for guests, an arch with generic plastic flowers woven into it, and a small table for the JOP to set their paperwork on.  On the back wall was a cross with a miserable-looking Jesus tacked against it.  As she focused her attention on the cross, it started to wiggle.  Soon it was vibrating like an angry bee stuck in a spider web.  </p><p><br/> The Justice of the Peace was a tired-looking middle-aged man who still managed to be friendly.  The Ghost Facers scrambled to set up their cameras around him, and Ed filmed a quick bit about his team continuing to follow the case through a ‘promising group of enthusiasts.’</p><p><br/> “’Enthusiasts’ my ass,” Dean muttered as they waited for him to shut up.  “Should break all their friggin’ cameras.”</p><p><br/> &lt;The cross&gt;, Ash wanted to say.  &lt;Should we be concerned about the cross?&gt;  Maybe she was just worried about it because of all the anxiety she was getting off of Crowley.  Maybe the Christian symbol was just very poorly nailed to the wall, and the heating and cooling system was making it shake.  Whatever the cause, Sam and Dean were too focused on the Ghost Facers to notice.</p><p><br/> “Repeat after me,” the Justice said, and Sam subtly tapped the back of her foot with his toe, making sure she was paying attention.  She parroted the words back to him, just as she’d seen Trisha do the other day, one eye on the Justice and the other trained on the cross.  &lt;It’s just your imagination&gt;, she told herself.  &lt;Nothing really, really bad is about to happen.  You are in Las Vegas, trying to fight a ghost.  You need to protect Sam and Dean.  Crowley is going to be fine without you&gt;.  The Justice turned his attention to Dean, who repeated the same words.  Dean had followed Ash’s line of sight and was now also interested in the cross; he raised an eyebrow at Ash and she shook her head.  &lt;Not my fault&gt;.  The air chilled around them and all present broke out in goosebumps.  Ed whispered something to Harry, and Harry nodded, adjusting the settings on his camera.  Dean gave Sam a Look, and his brother stepped back and pulled an EMF detector out of his pocket.  </p><p><br/> “By the power invested in me by the city of Las Vegas, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Justice said.  “Now, if you could just sign here, here, and here…”  </p><p><br/> Dean brought his attention back to the man in front of him.  He picked up a pen from the table and signed where the little x’s were, then held the pen out to Ash.  She was still staring at the cross, so he nudged her with his elbow until she noticed him.  She’d never had to sign her name before, and she was having a hard time remembering what it was supposed to be anyway, but she scribbled something on the paper that definitely started with an ‘A,’ and the Justice looked happy.  He took the papers for a moment, double-checking that everything was in place.</p><p><br/>  The cross was now making a spirited effort to part company with the wall it was attached to.  </p><p><br/> “Congratulations, and enjoy the rest of your trip,” the Justice said.  “Or…Your ghost hunting adventure, I suppose,” he added, eyeing the Ghost Facers suspiciously.  </p><p><br/> The cross dropped, landing on the carpet with a soft thump.  Ash jumped in surprise, even though she’d been half-expecting it.  Every light in the room, electrical and candle, went out at once.</p><p><br/> Ed shrieked, as did one of the interns.  Harry started whisper-shouting orders to his camera crew.</p><p><br/>It only took a second for Ash’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.  She looked over at the cross on the floor: It had landed perfectly upside-down.</p><p><br/> Dean grabbed Ash’s arm.  “Come on; we should get out of here.”</p><p><br/> They hustled into the hallway, where the lights were working normally.  Sam grabbed Ash’s other arm.</p><p><br/> “Please tell me that was you doing that.”</p><p><br/> “I—I don’t know,” Ash admitted.  “I probably made the lights go out, but I did &lt;not&gt; move that cross!”</p><p><br/> “EMF was all over the place, so it could have been the ghost.  But according to all the previous reports, nothing unusual has ever happened at the ceremonies.”</p><p><br/> Ash started to speak, but clamped her mouth shut when she saw Ed sidle up to them.</p><p><br/>  “That was exciting!  Nothing like that happened with me or Harry!  Ripped that sucker right off the wall and flipped it upside down—almost feels Satanic, doesn’t it?”</p><p><br/> Ash paled and choked halfway through a breath, turning away from the group as she broke into a coughing fit.  &lt;It’s got to be him; it’s got to be Lucifer…Somehow he’s doing something from the Cage, using his power on Earth…This is what Crowley’s freaking out about.&gt;  </p><p><br/> “Are you going to dinner now?”</p><p><br/> “Uh…6:30,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “Perfect!  Gives us enough time to get set up in your room first.  Lead the way.”</p><p><br/> Dean glared at him, but Sam sighed and shrugged.  “Yeah, alright.”</p><p><br/> Ash wasn’t about to get stuck in an enclosed space with the Ghost Facers, not with all the adrenaline coursing through her.  “Hey, uh, I just remembered I was supposed to check in with my dad,” she said as casually as possible.  “I left my phone up in the room; can I borrow yours, Dean?”</p><p><br/> He gave her a suspicious look, but handed the phone over.</p><p><br/> “Your dad?” Ed snorted.  His eyes narrowed.  “Hang on, are you even 18?  Are you boys dragging a kid around?”</p><p><br/> “I’m 30,” Ash snapped.  “Sam has my birth certificate, if you don’t believe me.”  She really hoped they’d put the same age on the certificate, now that she’d said that.  But Ed backed down.  </p><p><br/> “Your dad a hunter too?”</p><p><br/> “He’s…In a related line of work,” Ash replied, and Dean made a funny noise in the back of his throat.  </p><p><br/> “One hour,” Dean told her.  She nodded and disappeared down the hall.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash slipped outside and retreated to the secluded bench she’d found earlier.  Dean had Crowley saved in his phone as “666;” she dialed, and waited.  It rang four times, then went to voicemail.  Damn.  She felt less panicky, which either meant he was resolving the situation or it had evolved beyond the point of fixing and he had given up panic-mode and accepted that things were now going to be absolute shit.  The cross was still bugging her: Maybe it was the ghost, since they all knew it had been present.  But why rip a cross off the wall and make it land upside-down?  Had it fallen naturally, it would have landed flat on the floor, or on its side, or leaning upright against the wall.  But some force, ghost or otherwise, had purposefully flipped it, something Lucifer was known to do.  </p><p><br/> She reached out with her mind.  &lt;Crowley?&gt;  He was in Hell, but she couldn’t feel his mind.  Maybe he was blocking her out, knowing she’d felt him panic earlier?  She dialed Castiel, but he didn’t answer either.  She wasn’t as good at praying to him as she was at connecting with her demon, but she gave it a shot: &lt;Castiel?  Something’s happening in Hell; not sure if it’s an angel-level of serious, but I can’t reach Crowley&gt;.  She adjusted her position on the bench, and waited.</p><p><br/> After a few moments, she heard the angel’s voice in her head: &lt;Stay with Sam and Dean.  Do not go looking for Crowley.&gt;</p><p><br/> She sighed.  Well, &lt;that&gt; was helpful.  </p><p><br/> The angel’s voice popped into her head again, sounding more urgent this time.  &lt;Do not leave the bunker.&gt;</p><p><br/> &lt;I’m in Vegas.&gt;</p><p><br/> &lt;Go back to the bunker.  Stay there until I tell you otherwise.&gt;</p><p><br/> &lt;What’s happened?  Is it Lucifer?&gt;  Ash waited a moment, and was met with silence.  &lt;Is Crowley okay?&gt;</p><p><br/> &lt;Don’t go looking for Crowley,&gt; Castiel reiterated.  &lt;Get back to the bunker.  That’s an order.&gt;</p><p><br/> Damn it!  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/>Ash speed-walked back to their room, pounding on the door.  She jumped back when she was met by Harry.  “Almost got everything ready!” he greeted her cheerfully, ushering her inside.  </p><p><br/> The room had been overtaken by the Ghost Facers.  Cameras were strapped to the ceiling, set on the dresser, trained on the air vents, and generally tacked to every available surface outside of the bathroom (that had been a fight that Dean had won eventually, and though Ed and Harry understood they were also disappointed).  Dean and Sam were sitting at the little table, both thoroughly unamused by the team’s proceedings.  Dean’s expression brightened upon seeing Ash.</p><p><br/> “You’re back!”  He slid his chair back and stood up, missing the little smile Sam hid behind a cup of coffee.  </p><p><br/> She handed him his phone.  </p><p><br/> “You reach him?”</p><p><br/> Ash shook her head.  “Heard from Cas, though.”  She glanced around at the other humans.  “We need to talk.”</p><p><br/> “Sure.  What’s up?”</p><p><br/> She could feel the Ghost Facers’ eyes on her, and she chose her words carefully.  “Cas needs me back at the bunker.  He says its urgent.”</p><p><br/> “…Oh.  Does this have anything to do with…What you were saying earlier?” Dean replied, also eyeing the Ghost Facers eyeing them.</p><p> <br/> “Yes.  We need to leave right now.”</p><p><br/> “Dean, check this out,” Sam said, pulling up a news feed on his phone.  It showed thousands of people tweeting about crosses spontaneously flipping themselves upside-down.  </p><p><br/> “Leave?!” Ed cried.  “But we’re so close—you’re so close to catching this thing!  You can’t just quit in the middle of a hunt—”</p><p><br/> Dean frowned at the phone.  “Sorry, Ed.  Something’s come up.”</p><p><br/> “But—But—”</p><p><br/> “You can leave tonight, after you kill it,” Harry pleaded.  “Seriously, what can’t wait a few more hours?”</p><p><br/> Ash turned to address him, and her eyes were the most intense blue he’d ever seen; it was like they were glowing.</p><p><br/> “The end of the world,” she said.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The first leg of their journey home was quiet, apart from the radio.  Dean wasn’t even singing along: He was too concerned trying to think of what, exactly, had got Cas spooked so badly.  It had to be related to Lucifer, but to what extent—was he using his power from inside cage?  Had he managed to escape?  But Cas would have said something to Ash if he had.  Wouldn’t he?  What was Cas up to right now, anyway?  He kept talking about problems in Heaven, but what sort of problems were they, exactly?  What had gotten everyone’s feathers so ruffled?</p><p><br/> Ash’s adrenaline wore off around the city limits, and she was out cold before they hit the state line.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, Ash,” Lucifer said from right next to her.</p><p><br/> She jolted upright.  She was still in a seat, but it was more rigid than the plush leather of the Impala.  Looking around her, she recognized Crowley’s throne room.  She was sitting on his throne.</p><p><br/> &lt;Oh, shit.  We’re not in the Cage anymore.  HE’S not in the Cage anymore.&gt;</p><p><br/> “You like my new digs?” Lucifer asked, strutting down the long rug that led away from the throne.  “I’m free, kid.  I’m back in the world.  Back on top.”  He strolled back to her side and patted her head.  “Crowley was so upset—but don’t worry, I think we’ve come to an arrangement.”</p><p><br/> She clenched her jaw, letting out an inhuman growl.</p><p><br/> “Oh, don’t worry—I didn’t kill him.  He’s far too entertaining at the moment.  Don’t think you’ll be hearing from him anytime soon, though.  He’s a little…Tied up.”</p><p><br/> “He’s going to kill you.”</p><p><br/> Lucifer snorted.  “He wishes.  Seriously, though, I’ll be sending some people to collect you in a bit.  Once I get Hell in order and knock some sense into Heaven—you know how stubborn demons and angels can be.  It would be…Beneficial…To your friends if you come when I call.”  He tapped her nose with his finger, as if she was still in her dog form.  “I don’t like to ask twice.”</p><p><br/> “Go to Hell.”</p><p><br/> “Been there, done that, kid.”  He winked playfully.  “See you soon.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash jolted awake.  The radio fizzled and hissed static, waking Sam, who’d passed out in the passenger seat.  </p><p><br/> “That better be you, Ash,” Dean said, poking at the radio dials.</p><p><br/> “Sorry.  I saw Lucifer.  He’s not in the Cage anymore; when I saw him, he was in Crowley’s court.  He said he’s going to take over Hell and Heaven, and then he’s going to come for me.  And he’s got Crowley.”  </p><p><br/> “…Are you sure?” said Sam, who was still not 100% awake.</p><p><br/> “Sam!” Dean scolded.</p><p><br/> “What?  Okay, so…We’re already on our way to the bunker.  Unless Ash thinks she can port us there—”</p><p><br/> “No.”</p><p><br/> “—Then this is the fastest way.  He’s got to go after the rest of Hell, then Heaven, so we’ve got some time before he comes after her.”</p><p><br/> Dean nodded, gripping the steering wheel tighter, until his knuckles turned white.  “We should contact the other hunters, find out what’s going on out there.  Things are about to get way worse.”</p><p><br/> Sam started going down the line of hunter contacts to see if anyone had heard anything that might be related to Lucifer.  Most people were familiar with the flipped crosses, but aside from that things were quiet—almost too quiet, Sam thought.  No one had noted any demonic activity in the past 48 hours, which was unusual: Ash supposed that, if Lucifer was in fact free, he’d called everyone home for a little heart-to-heart.  It would be easy for him to then give out his new orders and kill anyone who opposed him.</p><p> <br/> They were about an hour from home when the calls started flooding in: Jody was first, then Garth, then Donna, and a string of other hunters followed suit, almost as if Dean and Sam were the new Bobby.  Well, they’d asked for phenomena, and they were given phenomena.  </p><p><br/> “The water’s turned to blood,” Jody said.  “People’ve been calling in, thinking someone’s been murdered, but it’s everywhere: Rivers, tap water—ice fishers say it’s affected the ponds, too.  We’ve sent samples to forensics, but there’s no way it can be human blood.  Smells like iron, though.”</p><p><br/> “Thanks, Jody.  You gonna be okay?”</p><p><br/> “I got a filter system that’s working okay so far.  Tastes kinda coppery but it doesn’t feel sludgy anymore, and the color’s a lot better.  Gonna be a mad dash for bottled water at the stores.  They’re sending police to Walmart so we don’t end up with riots.”</p><p><br/> The group inside the Impala scanned the roadside, but no water sources were visible.  As the rest of the hunters called in to relay similar situations, though, they realized this was at least a nationwide phenomenon.  Dean gave in and turned the radio to a news station, but like the crosses it seemed they would need to wait a little while for news writers to put their stories together.  </p><p><br/> Ash chewed on her lip until it bled.  Lucifer was free, and he had Crowley.  Now there was blood in the water  Hadn’t Agnes Nutter’s book talked about the Devil bringing the Plagues when he rose?  A river turning to blood was the first plague of Egypt, if Crowley’s theology lessons were accurate.  </p><p><br/> With a soft whoosh, Castiel appeared in the seat beside her, and she almost jumped high enough to hit her head on the car’s ceiling.  Dean swerved briefly before righting the steering.</p><p><br/> “Cas!  Holy shit, dude—what did I tell you about popping into Baby like that?”</p><p><br/> “I am sorry, Dean.  Things are happening quickly, and I did not have time to call ahead.”</p><p><br/> “What &lt;is&gt; happening?” asked Sam.</p><p><br/> Castiel gave Ash an apologetic, sad look.  “Lucifer has broken free of the Cage.  He is assembling his demons to wage war on Heaven and Earth.  He will destroy everything in our Father’s creation if he can, but he needs your help to do so.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, he mentioned that...”</p><p><br/>  “He believes that you exist to serve him, as the prophecy says. That you will help him to rewrite the universe as he sees fit.”</p><p><br/> “But I can also destroy him.  Can’t I?”</p><p><br/> “In theory.”  Castiel didn’t sound so sure.  “That part of the prophecy is…Well, the angels think Agnes was not an accurate source of information.” </p><p><br/> “We have the book.  The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.”</p><p><br/> “You have the book of prophecy?” Castiel asked, stunned.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah, Ash found it in the library the other day,” Sam said.  “It’s really interesting—it’s predicted lots of—”</p><p><br/> “Crowley guarded that book with his life,” the angel interrupted.  “He told me some of what it said, but refused to let me read it.  Kept it under multiple locks, some of which were hexed.  If the book appeared in the bunker, he must have known things were about to go south for him.”</p><p><br/> “I should help him.”</p><p><br/> “No,” Castiel said adamantly.  “You’re not going near the demon’s base, or Hell.  It’s commendable that you feel loyalty, however misplaced, toward Crowley, but if Lucifer gets you now, Crowley loses.  We all lose.  You must stay with Sam and Dean until it’s time to fight.”</p><p><br/> “Hey Cas?” Sam said.  “What’s up with the bloody water?  I thought your dad was in charge of plague stuff.”</p><p><br/> Castiel shook his head.  “Lucifer can, and has, called upon the ancient plagues.  I believe we can expect all ten of them in the days and weeks to come.”</p><p><br/> Dean gripped the steering wheel harder.  “Awesome.  So Cas, you sticking around?  Or do you have to get back to…Whatever it was you were doing?”</p><p><br/> “I have designated myself to guard the Nephilim,” he said.  “There may be incidents that require my attention elsewhere, but my primary duty at this time is to keep Ash away from Lucifer and, should she become compromised, notify my brethren.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Back in the bunker, Ash resisted the urge to hide under the bed until the apocalypse was over.  This was what she’d been training for her whole life, but now that it was here, it seemed surreal.  There were years when she’d just wanted the end of the world to hurry up and get here so she didn’t have to worry about it anymore, but it was all so much more intimidating now that it wasn’t so far away.  And she had a home now where she could be herself, not a temporary spot acting as someone’s pet.  Sam and Dean knew who she was and what she was, and that was fine with them; and she was starting to get the impression that Dean might even like her, like &lt;really&gt; like her, which would be awesome except that her life expectancy was now a matter of days or weeks.  Ash had no presumption that she would survive beyond her mission to kill Lucifer and save the world.  As the Winchesters had proven again and again, world-saving tended to come at a cost of one’s life (and she didn’t think a Nephilim would be dragged out of Hell like Sam and Dean had been).  </p><p><br/> Castiel took an immediate interest in the Prophecies, sitting down in the war room to read while Sam and Dean opened the takeout pizza they’d grabbed on their way home.  Ash didn’t feel much like eating, so she curled up in Dean’s room with his laptop and watched cartoons to try to take her mind off of everything.  At least with Lucifer busy trying to take over the world, she shouldn’t have to worry about him barging into her dreams.  &lt;But he has Crowley,&gt; she thought bitterly.  He’d tortured Crowley before, she knew, chaining him up like a dog and humiliating him in front of his subjects.  Why hadn’t Crowley run away?  Had he really had no warning that the Cage was going to open?  But he must have known, because Cas said he left the book with her on purpose, and that was before Lucifer was set free.  Maybe there was nowhere he could run to that Lucifer couldn’t reach.  Her demon was always ten steps ahead of everyone: What did he have up his sleeve this time?</p><p><br/> The answer came to her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it: He had Ash.  She was the trick up his sleeve; it was up to her now, whether he succeeded or failed.  No pressure, right?</p><p><br/> “Ash?  You okay?” Dean asked from the doorway.</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Fine.  Just…Watching ‘Bob’s Burgers.’”</p><p><br/> He looked confused for a moment, then remembered that it was a show.  “Ah.  Okay.”  He sat down at the foot of the bed.  “The lights are flickering in the war room, and there’s a crack in the floor that wasn’t there earlier, so…How fine is ‘fine’?”</p><p><br/> Ash hid her face in her hands.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know how to control it.”</p><p><br/> “It’s okay.  As long as you’re ‘fine,’” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.</p><p><br/> She removed her hands.  “I’d be more ‘fine’ if I could find Crowley.”</p><p><br/> “I’m with Cas on this one.  You need to stay away from Lucifer until he says it’s time to fight.”</p><p><br/> She sighed.  “Then let’s fight him &lt;now&gt; and get it over with!”</p><p><br/> Dean held his hand out to her and she scooted over to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her.  </p><p><br/> “What’s rule number one?” Dean said.</p><p><br/> Ash sighed harder.  “Don’t get killed.”</p><p><br/> “Don’t get killed,” he repeated.  He kissed the top of her head.  “Crowley’s a smart guy.  He’ll be alright.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>EARLIER THAT DAY</p><p><br/> Crowley adopted the most arrogant expression he could muster and leaned back on the throne.  He didn’t even flinch as Lucifer burst through the doors, shattering the wood and sending splinters everywhere. </p><p><br/> “Honey, I’m home!” Lucifer cried triumphantly.  His snake-like eyes settled on the throne’s current occupant, and darkened.  “Crowley.”</p><p><br/> The bucket of holy oil that had been resting over the door finally discovered gravity, tipping over and falling toward the Devil.  Without looking up, Lucifer snapped his fingers and the bucket vanished.  </p><p><br/> “You think you can pull that trick on ME?”</p><p><br/> Crowley looked embarrassed.  “It was worth a shot.”</p><p><br/> Lucifer moved toward him.  “I INVENTED cheap tricks, you worm!  Nobody—”  He was cut off as oil sloshed down on him from a ceiling vent.  “Really?”</p><p> Crowley snapped his fingers and the oil caught fire.  Lucifer screamed and vanished.  </p><p><br/> When he reappeared several minutes later, he looked absolutely furious.  “Bad dog!”<br/> </p><p> </p><p> <br/> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14: The Beginning of the End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Somehow, it's still better than real-life 2020...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Dean woke up itching like Hell.  He resisted the urge to scream upon discovering that he was covered in scabs and boils: He jumped to his feet and ran to the bathroom, flicking on the light and looking in the mirror to see how bad it was.  He pulled his shirt off and saw that the affliction covered him, front and back, like giant, hideous chicken pox.  And damn, it itched!  Why did it itch so bad?  The Bible never mentioned that part.  He scratched at his legs through his pajama bottoms, feeling the raised bumps from the boils and the rough patches of scabbed-over skin.  </p><p><br/> His mad itching had woken Ash up: She sat up, yawning, and took in the condition of his skin.  </p><p><br/> “It’s just the plague,” Dean grumbled, feeling even more uncomfortable with her looking at him so intently.  He took a step toward her, the light from the bathroom illuminating her skin.  It was clear of any blemishes.</p><p><br/> “Must only affect humans,” she said.  She stood and walked over to him, touching his arm to feel the bumps.  “I can try to heal them—it shouldn’t be too hard.”</p><p><br/> “No,” Dean said, grabbing her wrist to stop her.  “Healing saps your energy, and you need to conserve it.  We don’t know how much time we have left, but you can’t afford to waste your power on me right now.  I’ll get Cas.”</p><p><br/> Ash sagged in defeat, hand falling back to her side.  “Yeah.  Okay.”</p><p><br/> She looked so crestfallen, he felt guilty for telling her ‘no,’ even though he had a point.  “It’s only three thirty; go back to bed, I’ll go get Cas.”</p><p><br/> He disappeared into the hall and located Castiel in the library, rereading the Prophecies for the hundredth time.  Cas looked up at him in surprise, but didn’t seem put off by the boils—more of a ‘yes, it’s about time for that.’ </p><p><br/> “Think you can get this shit off?” Dean asked hopefully, holding his arm up for inspection.  </p><p><br/> Castiel frowned thoughtfully and pressed his palm to Dean’s forehead, glowing faintly with his Grace.  The incessant itchy feeling faded as the boils and sores disappeared.</p><p><br/> “Cas took care of it, no problem,” Dean told Ash as he slid back into bed.  Plague?  Hah!  Not when you have an angel in your pocket, he thought.  But not everyone had an angel on standby—he grabbed his laptop to check if the boils had made the news yet.  Ash leaned her head on his shoulder, also curious about how the outside world was taking it.  </p><p><br/> It wasn’t just boils.  Lucifer had unleashed many of the plagues at once: The roads were covered with frogs, many of which were now frog carcasses thanks to traffic; the skies had grown dark with locusts, which then concentrated in major farming areas to decimate crops of corn, wheat, and hay.  Lice, bedbugs, and mosquitoes were causing people around the world to itch, even in cold, remote places like the Antarctic research facility.  The mosquito bites had then spread diseases like Zika, Dengue fever, malaria, West Nile Virus, yellow fever, and Chikungunya virus.  At the same time, livestock were dropping dead, creating even more panic about a food shortage.  Grocery stores worldwide were being cleaned out as soon as people heard the news.  </p><p><br/> Countries were going to war with each other and themselves.  In the remote areas of many African nations, locals were killing each other in the belief that witchcraft was to blame for the plagues.  Eight separate political groups declared war on Israel.  Christian extremists called for the deaths of homosexuals (as if God was just pissed there was too much sodomy these days).  A bloody race war in South Africa had first-world countries in an uproar on social media platforms, though America was looking like it might follow suit.  People were rioting in the streets, blaming their problems on (pick one or more): The Muslims, the Hispanics, the Jews, the North, the South, black people, white people, Native Americans, Democrats, Republicans, the President, fascists, antifascists, and Westboro Baptist Church.  The President was talking about separating the different races and religions “for their own safety,” which sounded suspiciously to Dean like segregation.  What the Hell was happening?  Oh, right—Hell was happening.  </p><p><br/> “Friggin’ insane,” Dean muttered under his breath.  Even if they killed Lucifer, what the Hell was going to happen to the world?  Would the fighting stop when the devil was dead, or would it carry on indefinitely?  It was only a matter of time before someone pushed a big, red, scary button and the whole planet went ‘boom.’  </p><p><br/> Ash shivered and pressed closer against him; he slipped his arm around her shoulder.  </p><p><br/> Dean checked his e-mail for the hunters-only ‘newsletter’ a contact down in Texas had started a few months ago.  The writer, a hunter named Aaron, had lost his lower leg to a nasty infection (from an untreated harpy bite) and was no longer out in the field, but he kept busy by following supernatural occurrences.  This edition of the newsletter touched on the plagues and what people could do to protect themselves and their homes from the various afflictions.  It went on to discuss how monsters were targeting rioters and protesters: In a number of jails across the country, people who had been detained for everything from ‘loitering,’ and ‘disturbing the peace,’ to ‘inciting a riot’ and ‘assaulting an officer with a deadly weapon’ were being slaughtered.  The non-humans knew it was the end of the world, and they were going to enjoy themselves while they could.  </p><p><br/> Dean hit ‘reply all’ and messaged the group back about what was happening with Lucifer and how they had a ‘supernatural being in custody’ that could supposedly take him down, but no promises.  </p><p><br/> “’In custody?’” Ash said, reading his response.  “You make it sound like I’m a prisoner.”</p><p><br/> “Sounds better to the other hunters.  It’s easier if they think you’re some monster we’ve locked in the dungeon than having to explain…Everything.”</p><p><br/> “Do you mind if we listen to something that’s not about…Current events?  Just for a little while.”</p><p><br/> “Of course.”  Dean brought up Top Gear on Netflix and found one of his favorite episodes, where they focused on classic cars.  He hesitated.  “You want me to find something else?  I know cars aren’t really your thing.”</p><p><br/> “That’s okay,” she replied.  “I like their accents.”</p><p><br/> Right.  British accents, like Crowley.  And the demon was just the epitome of greatness, wasn’t he?  &lt;Hell of a lot better than the other assholes down there, though,&gt; his brain thought treacherously.  He passed the computer back to Ash, who set it on the nightstand and laid down on her side, facing away from him.  He slid into place behind her, wrapping his arm around her so that her back was pressed up against his chest.  She was tense, fear radiating from her like a rabbit stuck in a fox den.  The feeling started to invade Dean’s mind, and he realized he needed to get her to calm down before they both went insane.  </p><p><br/> “Ash.  You’re…Projecting,” he said, not sure if that was the right term for what was happening.  “Want to talk about it?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head and curled farther into herself.  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.  “I don’t know how to control it.  I can go sit out with Castiel if I’m bothering you—”</p><p><br/> “No, that’s not…I don’t want you to leave.  I just want you to calm down.”</p><p><br/>She sighed.  “I’ll calm down when Lucifer’s dead.”</p><p><br/> Dean was silent for a moment, thinking.  “You’re afraid you won’t be able to kill him?”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  “Crowley thinks I can do this, and Castiel does too…I’ve always done what he’s asked, but I’ve never had so much…&lt;Pressure&gt;.  If I can’t do this, I don’t just fail Crowley, I fail &lt;everyone&gt;.”</p><p><br/> Dean squeezed her shoulders.  “It’s okay to fail.”  Ash snorted at that, but he continued: “Sam started the last apocalypse, and it wasn’t the end of the world.  This won’t be, either.  Even if you can’t stop him, we’ll find a way.  We always do.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Sam met them in the morning, covered in boils and sores.  Dean snapped a picture of him with his phone before he could get Castiel to heal him, and Sam threatened to snap the phone in half.  Once his skin was miraculously cleared, Dean made him a conciliatory breakfast.  </p><p><br/> “So, what’s left?  Hail?  Darkness?” Sam asked around a mouthful of turkey sausage, egg white, and cheese on a biscuit (because although Dean wouldn’t eat healthy trash like that, he still knew how to cook it for his baby brother).</p><p><br/> “Correct.  And massive lightning storms,” Castiel replied.  </p><p><br/> “Ah.  So, no night out on the town tonight, then?” Dean grinned.</p><p><br/> “That would be unwise.  Thousands of people and livestock died in the Egyptian storms.”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed.  “Yeah, I…I was kidding, Cas.”</p><p><br/> Castiel tilted his head to the side.  “Oh.  Of course.”  He turned his attention to Ash, who was staring vacantly at her plate of untouched food.  “Ash.”  No response.  He tried again, louder: “Ash.”</p><p><br/> She jumped in her seat and turned to face him.</p><p><br/> “You haven’t touched your breakfast.”</p><p><br/> Ash blinked, aware that the statement required some kind of response or explanation.  “I…Right.”  She picked up her breakfast sandwich, stared at it for a moment, then set it back down without taking a bite.  </p><p><br/> The angel tilted his head to the side.  “Lucifer won’t kill him until he has you.  He’ll want to use him as leverage over you.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Great.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s phone rang: Garth wanted to get all the hunters together that wanted to fight.  </p><p><br/> “No one is going to fight,” Dean said once he was on speakerphone.  “Anyone who fights is going to die.  This is literally a battle between Heaven and Hell: it’s not like Vampires vs. Zombies.”</p><p><br/> “You’re going to fight,” Garth replied.  </p><p><br/> Dean glared at the phone.  “We have to fight.  We’ve got Cas and Ash—”</p><p><br/> “And you could let them go on their own if you wanted to.  But you’re not going to do that, because that’s not who you are.  There are other people that want to fight, too—people like me.  Jody and Donna want to help—they’re not letting the girls fight, but they want to be involved, told them they could help any survivors after the fact—and Bill and Gavin, not sure if you met them, they’re a couple out of—”</p><p><br/> “Wisconsin.  Yeah, met them once,” Sam replied.  </p><p><br/> “Anyway, there’s a handful of people who want to be there when shit goes down.  And, judging by the nasty crap all over my skin, shit is going down soon.”</p><p><br/> Dean and Sam looked at each other, then at Cas, as if to say, &lt;well, are we doing this?&gt;  </p><p><br/> Castiel shrugged.  “We can’t stop them from fighting.  If they come with us, we might be able to keep them…Safer than they would be without us.  We can at least make sure they’re surrounded by angels, rather than demons.”</p><p><br/> Dean gritted his teeth.  Sam nodded curtly.  “Alright, Garth.  Forty-eight hours, at the bunker.  If the world hasn’t ended by then, we’ll see you and everyone else.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> After breakfast, there was more work to do.  Sam hit the books, digging up some of the Men of Letters’ most ancient texts in the hope of finding more guidance for Armageddon.  Dean suggested that Cas and Ash could make up the beds in more guest rooms for whatever hunters were brave and dumb enough to join them, but quickly realized the angel and Nephilim had absolutely zero experience in housekeeping and it would be easier to just do it himself.  So he put Cas in charge of weaponry and ammo, having him sort and pack all of the angel-blade bullets they had in stock, then carve devil’s traps into as many normal bullets as he could.  </p><p><br/> It was late in the afternoon by the time Sam took a break for lunch.  He found Dean already in the kitchen, halfway through a sandwich and a family-size bag of chips.  </p><p><br/> “It’s hailing outside,” Dean said through a mouthful of food.  “You can hear it if you go up to the garage.  You find anything useful?”</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed a handful of chips from his brother and opened the fridge, looking for his own sandwich ingredients.  “Not yet.  Where’s Cas?”</p><p><br/> “Last I saw him, he was praying on Angel Radio.  Some of the angels have defected to Lucifer’s army.  Sounds like they’re cowards who just don’t want to be on the losing team.”</p><p><br/> Sam glared at a pack of thin-sliced turkey.  “We’re not the losing team.”  He grabbed his ingredients and set them on the counter.  “How’s Ash doing?”</p><p><br/> “No idea.  I haven’t seen her since this morning.”</p><p><br/> Sam paused halfway through slicing a tomato.  “She’s definitely still here though, right?”</p><p><br/> “Why wouldn’t she be?”</p><p><br/> He shrugged.  “You know how upset she is about Crowley.  I just…Wouldn’t put it past her to go after him.”</p><p><br/> Dean shook his head.  “Cas told her to stay in the bunker.  She wouldn’t go against his orders.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, you’re right.”  Sam finished cutting the tomato and finished his sandwich construction.  “Still, Cas isn’t &lt;Crowley&gt;.  He’s the only one we &lt;know&gt; she’ll listen to, and he’s not here…”</p><p><br/> Dean shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and stood up.  “Okay, let’s find her.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She wasn’t in Dean’s room, the library, or the war room.  A quick scan of the garage, Sam’s room, the guest rooms, and the armory all turned up empty.  They checked Cas’s room, just to be thorough.</p><p><br/> Castiel was sitting with his legs folded in the middle of his bed, head bowed and eyes closed as he listened to his brothers and sisters squabble.  He picked his head up when he heard the boys enter.</p><p><br/> “Cas.  Sorry to interrupt—”</p><p><br/> “That’s quite alright, Dean.  I believe the expression is, ‘it’s like shouting at a wall.’”</p><p><br/> “Uh…Yeah, something like that.  Have you seen Ash?”</p><p><br/> The angel tilted his head to listen, but now he was focused on the sounds around him.  He could hear the heating and ventilation systems, the electrical hum of appliances and machinery, and the constant patter of hail outside.  And there was another sound, one that didn’t seem to be part of the background.  He stood up and stepped into the hall to hear it better.  </p><p><br/> “This way,” he said, heading in the direction of the strange noise.</p><p><br/> There was an intermittent thumping sound, like a battering ram against a wall.  Smaller thumping sounds followed, like a ricochet effect, or an echo of the first hit.  </p><p><br/> The noise led them to the dungeon.  The storage shelves that served as a door had been shut from the inside.  As they approached, there was a muffled bang, followed by a loud thump and a smaller thud.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?” Dean called.</p><p><br/> The other side of the storage shelves went silent.  The boys could just barely make out the crunchy, smooshy sound of Ash changing shape.</p><p> <br/> “…Yeah,” she said at last.  </p><p><br/> Castiel opened the doors, and the boys squinted into the dim light of the dungeon.  The walls had been decorated with Enochian warding, but the boys didn’t recognize it as the usual angel- or demon-proofing.  There was an acrid smell in the air, like massive amounts of power had just been discharged.  </p><p><br/> Castiel approached one of the symbols and touched it with his finger, bringing the red paint to his tongue.  “Blood,” he said.</p><p><br/> “It works better,” Ash said.  </p><p><br/> “What are these?” Sam asked, already getting his phone out to document them.</p><p><br/> “It’s a shielding spell,” Castiel replied.  “If someone were to attack any point along the wall, their strength would be reflected back at them.”</p><p><br/> “Crowley taught me.  So I could practice.”</p><p><br/> “Is that what you were doing?  Practicing?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  </p><p><br/> “Ash.  What were you doing?”</p><p><br/> Ash narrowed her eyes, and they began to glow.  She took a few steps away from everyone and raised her hands toward the nearest wall, unleashing her energy.  The Enochian symbols lit up, and the wall seemed to shimmer as it absorbed her power.  Then the blast rebounded outward, knocking the others off their feet and sending Ash flying into the far wall.  She hit with a solid thump, then a softer thud as she landed on the floor.  Slowly, she pushed herself back to her feet.</p><p><br/> Castiel stood and brushed himself off; Sam helped Dean up.  </p><p><br/> “Okay,” Dean said, “That seems…Healthy…”</p><p><br/> She spun around to face him, eyes still bright.  “Would you prefer I just drink all my problems away?”</p><p><br/> “Hey!  At least I don’t beat the shit out of myself—”</p><p><br/> “No, you let monsters do it for you.  But I can’t hunt monsters right now!  I can’t leave this damn bunker!  So excuse me for trying to de-stress in a safe environment—”</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed his brother’s arm as he opened his mouth to shout back at her.  “It might be safe for us,” Sam said calmly, “But it’s not healthy for &lt;you.&gt;”</p><p><br/> Ash hesitated, breathing heavily.  The air around her crackled with energy.  “I can heal myself.  I’ve been down here for hours, and I’m fine.”</p><p><br/> “Show me your hands,” Castiel said.</p><p><br/> Confused, she held them out to him.  In one swift movement, he grabbed her arms and she felt cold metal clamp around her wrists.</p><p><br/> “Ow!” she exclaimed, yanking her arms away from him.  “What the Hell?”</p><p> <br/> She looked down at the Enochian cuffs in shock.  </p><p><br/> “I’m sorry, Ash,” Castiel said.  “It’s for your own good.”</p><p><br/> “Because I beat myself up?” she scoffed.  “I’m not even hurt!”</p><p><br/> “Because you’re too emotional,” he replied.  “I should have done this earlier, but I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.  Your powers are made stronger by your emotions, but they can also be harder for you to control.  You’re worried about Crowley, and I understand that; but what if you were to accidentally port to him?  You’ve done it before.  Lucifer would catch you, and the war would be over before it began.”</p><p><br/> “I can fight him!  Isn’t that the entire point of the prophecy?!”</p><p><br/> “The point of the prophecy is that Lucifer will use you to destroy the world.  You must face him along with all of Heaven and Hell, and both sides are still preparing their armies.”</p><p><br/> “They’ve had thousands of years to prepare their stupid armies!”</p><p><br/> “Be patient.  I told you, he won’t kill Crowley until he has you.”</p><p><br/> Ash deflated, the glow leaving her eyes.  She looked down at her bare feet.  “Yeah.  Okay.”</p><p><br/> They shepherded her back to the kitchen, and Dean made a couple of sandwiches (one for her and one more for him) while Sam finished his own lunch.  Castiel watched her carefully, aware that so many things could go wrong at this point.  His hope was that locking Ash in the cuffs wouldn’t turn her against them and push her closer to Lucifer.  He was alright with being the ‘bad guy,’ as long as Sam and Dean were there to pick up the slack.  Dean had gotten especially close to her as of late; as long as he remained in her good graces, there was still hope.</p><p><br/> “Eat,” Dean prompted, after watching Ash stare sullenly at her food.  </p><p><br/>She glared down at her sandwich but picked it up obediently and took a bite.  The chain on the cuffs clinked as she moved, reminding her that any illusion of freedom was gone.  She was just another captive monster to them—it’s what she’d always been to them, she thought bitterly.  They weren’t her friends, they weren’t her family, and Dean wasn’t…Whatever she’d thought he might be.  Maybe she was overreacting; maybe the cuffs were making her overly defensive.  But she’d never had much control over her life, and now the little she had seemed to have been taken away: She couldn’t help Crowley, and now she couldn’t even shift or use her Nephilim powers.  </p><p><br/> The boys discussed their options for the afternoon while Ash glared at nothing and ate in silence.  Sam’s research looked like a long, boring dead-end; Dean was done making up all the guest rooms; and Cas had prepped all of the ammunition they had.  They might as well enjoy the time they had left, Dean pointed out.</p><p><br/> Sam’s phone beeped, and he pulled up the notification.  “It’s Eileen,” he said.  “She’s a few hours out; wants to know if it’s alright to come over tonight instead of waiting.”  He scrolled down.  “Power’s out everywhere else, thanks to the storms.  As long as the hail doesn’t get worse, she thinks she can make it.”</p><p><br/> Dean’s face lit up with a mischievous grin.  “I bet she can’t wait to see you.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes narrowed.  “Shut up.”</p><p><br/> “He’s got a huge crush on her,” Dean explained to Cas and Ash.</p><p> <br/> “I do not!” Sam snapped.</p><p><br/> “Uh-huh.”  Dean checked his own phone when it vibrated.  “Huh.  Charlie’s pretty close, too.  As soon as the weather lets up, she’s heading our way.”  He turned to Ash again.  “Charlie helped us out the first time the Leviathans tried to take over.  She’s a huge nerd, like Sammy.”</p><p><br/> “Well, it’ll be a while before they get here, if they’re able to make it at all,” Sam said.  “We might as well relax while we still can.  Want to watch a movie?  Something to take everyone’s minds off of…Everything?”</p><p><br/> Dean perked up.  “I’ll get—”</p><p><br/> “You should let Ash choose,” Castiel interrupted.</p><p><br/> “…Huh?”</p><p><br/> “I believe she needs cheering up the most, and watching one of your Westerns is not the answer.”</p><p><br/> “It’s fine,” Ash said, staring at the table.  “I…Don’t really care…”</p><p><br/> “No, Cas is right,” Sam said.  “No cowboys today.  We need something funny.  No life-or-death situations, no plagues, and no end of the world.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “How about this one?” Cas asked, clicking across the Netflix menu.  “The Mummy.  That man looks familiar.”</p><p><br/> “That’s Brendan Fraser,” Sam said.  “He’s in a lot of things.  Ash, have you seen it?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head.  </p><p><br/> Dean sat down between Ash and Cas with a big bowl of popcorn, while Sam stretched out on a recliner, his legs dangling off the end.  Dean threw a piece of popcorn at him.  “Uh, pretty sure that’s got life-or-death situations, plagues, and the end of the world.”</p><p><br/> “But it’s a comedy,” Sam argued.</p><p><br/> “Fine.  Whatever,” Dean sighed.  “Just so you know, it’s also got cowboys in it.”</p><p><br/> He draped his left arm over the back of the couch, on Ash’s side.  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t move closer or try to snuggle up to him.  &lt;Okay, still mad about the handcuffs,&gt; Dean thought.  </p><p><br/> “Hey,” he said, letting his draped arm fall across her shoulders.  “You know how many times Sammy and I have had to tie each other up?  When I was a demon—”</p><p><br/> “When I was possessed by an angel,” Sam added.  “When I was going crazy because Cas had opened the door to Hell in my mind; when I lost my soul and Dean didn’t know what was going on…”</p><p><br/> “Sounds like you tie your brother up a lot,” Ash said, finally cracking a smile.  </p><p><br/> “A lot,” Sam agreed.</p><p><br/> “Yeah, alright.  Point is, it’s nothing personal,” Dean said, shooting his brother a Look.  “It’s just…Part of the job.”</p><p><br/> Though Ash looked marginally less sullen, she still wasn’t in a cuddling mood.  She didn’t shrug off Dean’s arm, but she didn’t lean into him either.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Ash and Cas both enjoyed The Mummy so much, Sam suggested they watch the sequel (only the first sequel, which wasn’t crap).  They made it through almost the whole movie when Eileen texted Sam again.</p><p><br/> &lt;Ten minutes out,&gt; she said.  &lt;Stuck behind herd of deer.  Be there soon.&gt;</p><p><br/> “Stuck behind herd of deer,” Sam repeated.  “That’s…Different.”</p><p><br/> Five minutes later, she texted again, and Sam read it aloud: “&lt;Weather getting worse.  Hit a dead cow.  Will be late.&gt;”</p><p><br/> “Maybe I should check on Charlie,” Dean said.  He dialed her number, not wanting to ruin her concentration with texting.  </p><p><br/> “Dean.  What’s up?”  Charlie had him on speakerphone.  It was difficult to hear her over the din of rain and hail hitting her car.  </p><p><br/> “Just making sure you’re still alive.  I hear things are pretty bad out there.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah…Shit, what was that?  Hold on—okay, there’s the road.”</p><p><br/> “Where are you?”</p><p><br/> “Uh…GPS says I’m about ten minutes out from you.  It’s going to take more than ten minutes to—what the crap??  Oh shit, that’s a fence—I’m taking it slow, because—fuck me—there’s a lot going on out here.  Taking the Ring into Mordor would be easier than—hang on—what was I saying?  Anyway.  Holy crap, there’s someone else out here!  Looks like they ran into something big.  I’m gonna see if they need help—I’ll call you back.”</p><p><br/> “Hold on—Charlie?”  The line was dead.  “Damn it!”</p><p><br/> Ash sat up straighter.  “We should help.”</p><p><br/> Castiel stood up.  “’We’ should stay in the bunker.  I’ll find them both.”  He vanished with a flap of his wings.</p><p><br/> Dean looked down at his phone, then at the space Cas had previously occupied.  His gaze travelled over to Sam.</p><p><br/> “Hey Romeo, you should take a shower before your lady friend gets here.  You want to make a good impression.”</p><p><br/> “Shut up.”  Sam glared at his brother.  He stood up and headed toward the hall.  </p><p><br/> Once Sam was out of sight, Dean leaned back in his seat and smiled.  “He’s totally going to take a shower.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Fifteen minutes later, Charlie’s Subaru Outback pulled into the garage.  Castiel got out first, shaking hailstones out of his coat pockets.  Charlie was next, her hair matted to her face with rain and sweat and sleet.  Her clothes were soaked, and small pieces of ice stuck to them.  Eileen emerged last, looking like she’d been through the washing machine on the ‘extra rough’ cycle.  Her hair was dripping, as were her clothes, and she was limping slightly from trying to push her car off of a dead cow.  Castiel helped the girls grab their bags out of the trunk, and they dripped and hobbled their way into the bunker.</p><p><br/> “Eileen!” Sam called happily, signing her name.  </p><p><br/> “Sam!  You would not believe the night I’ve had!”</p><p><br/> Dean appeared beside his brother (noting that Sam had not only showered, but was wearing his ‘nice’ jeans and a clean shirt), grabbing the girls’ bags from Cas.  “Eileen.  Charlie.  Good to see you alive.”</p><p><br/> Charlie let out a brief huff of laughter.  “Barely.  You have somewhere we can change?  Or a towel?”</p><p><br/> “Towels and hot showers,” Dean replied.  “Sammy, could you show them to the bathroom?  I’ll put these in their rooms.”</p><p><br/> “So where’s this amazing creature that’s going to defeat Lucifer and save the world?” Charlie asked as she followed Sam toward the hall.  </p><p><br/> “What?  Oh, you mean Ash.  She’s right there.”  He pointed to the doorway behind Dean.  </p><p><br/> Ash pushed off of the doorframe and waved shyly.  She knew that Garth had been okay with her, but she didn’t know how other hunters would react.  And now she had the warded handcuffs, which made her look like a threat that needed to be locked up.  </p><p><br/> “Hi,” she said, her voice quieter than she’d meant.  “Nice to meet you,” she added, because that seemed to be the right thing to say when meeting people.  </p><p><br/> “Nice to meet you,” Eileen echoed, reading Ash’s lips.  “I’m Eileen.”</p><p><br/> “I’m Charlie.”  The redhead shook her hair and little bits of ice bounced onto the floor.  It sounded like someone had broken open a bag of frozen peas.  “Showers?” she asked Sam.</p><p><br/> “Right.”  He led the way to the communal bathroom, which had five private shower stalls and a Jacuzzi.  Sam and Dean didn’t use it much, unless there was a particularly nasty hunt and they didn’t want to get their own shower covered in bits of monster.  They kept it stocked with basic soap and shampoo—nothing fancy, but then hunters were used to worse.</p><p><br/> “Sammy!” Dean shouted from down the hall, as his brother was showing the girls how to operate the towel warming rack.  “Tell Eileen she’s going in 10, and Charlie’s in 5.”  Room 10 was next door to Sam’s room—a move which, Sam was sure, was completely intentional on his brother’s part.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> By the time the girls were warm and dry, Dean had a hot dinner ready for them (soup from a can, but he jazzed it up a little by throwing in some extra meat and herbs).  Without all the rain and hail and muck clinging to them, the boys could see the sores and boils on their skin, as well as enough bug bites that they looked like they’d caught chicken pox.  Castiel healed them, and their talk turned to the journey to the bunker.  Sam signed for the others when Eileen wasn’t able to lip-read.</p><p><br/> “It rained fish,” Charlie said.  “These little sardine things mostly, but a few bigger ones.  This big, slimy eel fell right across my windshield, and I had to stop and wipe the goo off so I could see.  It just stuck to the wiper blades.”</p><p><br/> “I saw the fish, too,” Eileen said.  “I got an octopus.  It was still alive.  Did you see the tornadoes?”</p><p><br/> “Yes!  Three of them, along the horizon.  And one upside-down.”</p><p><br/> “What do you mean, ‘upside-down’?” Dean asked.</p><p><br/> “The big end was toward the ground,” she said, holding her hand up in a cone-shape to demonstrate.  “And the frogs—oh, I feel so bad for the frogs!  It was impossible not to run them over.”</p><p><br/> “I had to clear dead frogs out of my wheel wells,” Eileen said.  “But that was nothing compared to the cow.”</p><p><br/> “We’ll have to go back when the weather clears up and get your car unstuck,” Charlie said.  “With the boys and Cas, we should be able to move it no problem.”</p><p><br/> Eileen nodded, and turned her attention to Ash.  “So Ash, what’s your story?”</p><p><br/> Ash glanced at Dean, unsure of how much she should share.</p><p><br/> “It’s alright,” he said.  “You can tell them anything.”</p><p><br/> She looked to Cas, who nodded his approval.</p><p><br/> “Uh…Well, I’m half-demon and half-fallen-angel.  Crowley sort of…Raised me…Owns me…Um…It’s complicated.”</p><p><br/> “Crowley,” Charlie repeated.  “The King of Hell?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.”</p><p><br/> “How did you end up with Sam and Dean?” Eileen asked.</p><p><br/> “We were both trying to stop the Leviathans.  Crowley told me to help them, and…”  She shrugged.  “I kept helping them.”</p><p><br/> “What powers do you have?”</p><p><br/> “Shapeshifting.  That’s…Mostly what I do.  I can port, sometimes.  I can move things with energy—I don’t know what it’s called…”  She looked to Cas for help.</p><p><br/> “This,” Castiel said, motioning to a fork and sending it sliding across the table.  “It…Doesn’t have a name.”</p><p><br/> “And I make people feel things,” Ash added.  “Mostly demons.  Demons always feel things around me.”</p><p><br/> Charlie and Eileen shared a look that said, ‘This is the thing that’s going to destroy Lucifer?’</p><p><br/> “She’s torn through Leviathans and demons,” Dean said.  “She helped us kill the Bleaken—”</p><p><br/> “The what?”</p><p><br/> “—This…Nature spirit rabbit thing, and some satyrs—”</p><p><br/> “We agreed not to bring those up again,” Sam reminded him.</p><p><br/> “Right.  Forget the saty—forget them.  Point is, I know she can do this.  There’s a whole prophecy about her.  She’s stronger than she seems.”</p><p><br/> Charlie took a sip of coffee.  “You’ve gotta be pretty OP to take down the Devil,” she said, sounding skeptical.</p><p><br/> “OP?” </p><p><br/> “Over-powered.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Yeah.  Well, I mean, she’s gonna have an army of angels backing her up.  That’s why we can’t go after him yet—we have to wait for Heaven to get off its ass.”</p><p><br/> “We’re working on it,” Cas snapped.</p><p><br/> “Anyone up for a game?” Eileen asked, trying to break the boys’ attention.  “I brought Cards Against Humanity.”</p><p><br/> Charlie’s face lit up.  “Sweet!”</p><p><br/> “Never heard of it,” Dean said.  “Sam and I get really competitive—games might not be the best idea.”</p><p><br/> “It’s not a competitive game,” Sam said, sighing at his brother’s ignorance.  “I mean, you do sort of ‘win,’ but…It’s not like Monopoly.”</p><p><br/> Dean grinned.  “You’re probably the only kid to get a broken wrist from playing a board game.”</p><p><br/> “Cause &lt;you&gt; broke it!”</p><p><br/> “Boys!” Eileen snapped.  “This is just for fun.”</p><p><br/> Cas nudged Ash.  “Come on; let’s clear the table.”  He had also never heard of Cards Against Humanity, but anything was better than sitting there and thinking about the inevitability of impending doom.  </p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Eileen grabbed a small shoebox from her bag and set it down on the clean table.  She set a pile of black cards in the middle, and a few piles of white cards on all sides, so that anyone would be able to reach them no matter where they were sitting.  She dealt out ten white cards for each player.</p><p><br/> “Ash and Cas aren’t going to know a lot of these words,” Sam said.  Cas, you sit next to me and I’ll help you.  Dean, you help Ash.”</p><p><br/> Dean scooted his chair even closer to Ash, so they were almost touching.  Sam decided he didn’t need to be that close to Cas.</p><p><br/> “Charlie will start, since I think she’s the youngest,” Eileen said.  “She’ll read the black card, and you pick a white card that you think goes with it.  Put them face down in front of her, and she’ll pick her favorite.  Then we’ll move clockwise around the table, so everyone reads a black card, and we keep going until someone has three black cards, or until we decide we’re done.”</p><p><br/> “So there is a winner,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “It’s not Monopoly,” Sam warned him.  “Just…Forget about the black cards.”</p><p><br/> “Okay,” Charlie said, picking up a black card.  “’What do old people smell like?’”</p><p><br/> Sam coughed.  “Ah, for the non-humans among us, I just want to point out that it’s supposed to be funny.  In case that wasn’t clear.”</p><p><br/> Everyone looked at their hand of cards.  Dean, Sam, and Eileen smiled and chuckled as they read through them; Ash and Cas looked more puzzled than anything.  </p><p><br/> Dean put a card face-down, looking pleased with himself.  “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, looking over Ash’s shoulder.  “Uh…Not really any goods ones.  Try this.”  He pointed to ‘a can of whoop-ass’, and Ash placed it on top of his own card.  </p><p><br/> “What about you, Cas?”</p><p><br/> “I think I would like to try for myself,” the angel replied, sliding a card onto the small pile.  </p><p><br/> When everyone had added their cards, Charlie flipped them over and read them out loud.  “What do old people smell like?  A can of whoop ass.  Obesity.  A zesty breakfast burrito.  Necrophilia.  Sexual humiliation.  Um…Necrophilia wins.”</p><p><br/> “Yes!”  Eileen took the black card and set it in front of her.  “Okay, Sam’s turn.  Everyone, draw another white card.  You should always have ten.”</p><p><br/> Sam drew a black card.  “Hey baby, come back to my place and I’ll show you (blank).”</p><p><br/> After a little hemming and hawing, everyone put a card down.  </p><p><br/> “Okay.  Hey baby, come back to my place and I’ll show you…Daddy’s belt—” (Charlie snorted) “—A mating display.  An ass disaster—” (Dean snorted) “Bill Clinton, naked on a bearskin rug with a saxaphone—really??  And…What the crap?  Pac-Man uncontrollably guzzling cum.”</p><p><br/> Eileen, Charlie, Sam, and Dean burst into a giggling fit.  </p><p><br/> “Well, I guess that’s the winner,” Sam said, holding up the Pac-Man card.  </p><p><br/> Dean grabbed the black card triumphantly.  </p><p><br/> Ash leaned into him and whispered, “Who’s Pac-Man?”</p><p><br/> He pulled his phone out and did a quick Google image search.</p><p><br/> “Ah.  Okay.  And what’s—”</p><p><br/> “Semen,” Dean said, feeling more awkward than when he’d given Sammy The Talk decades ago.  “Please tell me you know—”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Right.  Yes.  Got it.”</p><p><br/> Castiel was next to read off a black card.  “Help me doctor, I’ve got (blank) in my butt!”</p><p><br/> Dean giggled.</p><p><br/> Once everyone had played their white card, Cas picked them up.  “Hmm.  A family of raccoons.  Loki, the Trickster god.  A pinata full of scorpions.  A piping-hot casserole filled with beans and hair.  A tribe of warrior women.”  He stared at the cards, considering each carefully.  “All of those would be unpleasant to have in one’s butt.  I would have to say…A pinata full of scorpions.”</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed the black card.  “Your turn, Dean.”</p><p><br/> “What’s making things awkward in the sauna?”</p><p><br/> “What’s a sauna?” Ash whispered.</p><p><br/> “It’s…Uh…A little room that gets really hot.  People sit in it either naked or mostly naked and sweat.  It’s…Supposed to be good for you…”</p><p><br/> “People do this voluntarily, or as a punishment?”</p><p><br/> “Voluntarily.”</p><p><br/> “Hmm.”  She looked down at her cards.</p><p><br/> Everyone put a card down, and Dean gathered them up.  “What’s making things awkward in the sauna?  Warm, velvety muppet sex.”</p><p><br/> “What’s a mup—”</p><p><br/> “Like a puppet.  You know Sesame Street?  Kermit the Frog?”</p><p><br/> “Oh.”</p><p><br/> “Genital piercings.  A fart.  Golden showers.”  </p><p><br/> Ash grabbed Dean’s phone and Googled that one.</p><p><br/> “And…Pixelated bukkake.”  Dean grabbed the phone away from Ash before she could look that one up.  “I don’t even want that in my search history.”  Lord knows it would mess with his porn searches for a long time.</p><p><br/> Charlie leaned across the table.  “It’s basically a bunch of guys jerking off onto someone.  ‘Pixelated’ means they blur over everyone’s dicks.”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Thank you, Charlie.  Um…The winner is…Warm, velvety muppet sex.”</p><p><br/> Sam grabbed the card.  Ash had a feeling that Sam and Dean were always going to pick each other’s cards, even without knowing they were doing it.  They knew each other too well.  </p><p><br/> “Your turn, kid.”</p><p><br/> Ash drew a card.  “In the distant future, historians will agree that (blank) marked the beginning of America’s decline.”</p><p><br/> The others read through their cards, looking for something that not only fit but Ash would understand.  Charlie had ‘former President George W. Bush,’ but she doubted Ash kept up with American politics.  Likewise, Eileen had ‘the mere concept of Applebees,’ which she thought was a horrible restaurant, but she doubted Ash had ever had to eat there.  Sam wanted to use ‘Carnies,’ but he knew Ash was unaware of the stigma of carnival workers.  </p><p><br/> “Leading a country to war on false pretenses.  Justin Bieber.  The end of all life on Earth.  White people.  The Great Lizard Uprising of 2352.  Wait—is that a real—oh, I get it.  Um…White people!”</p><p><br/> “Alright!” Charlie said, high-fiving her.  Ash’s handcuffs jingled as she raised her hand, momentarily reminding her that tonight was not all fun-and-games.  She sank back in her seat, suddenly feeling less good about things.  </p><p><br/> It was Eileen’s turn.  “What’s the gift that keeps on giving?”  She picked up everyone’s cards.  “You’re all going to Hell.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, we’ve been there,” Sam said.  “What do they say?”</p><p><br/> She cleared her throat dramatically.  “What’s the gift that keeps on giving?  The Virginia Tech Massacre.  Racism.  Smallpox blankets.  A vagina that beatboxes when it’s horny.  That ass.”</p><p><br/> Sam was laughing silently.  Dean was on the edge of his seat, choking back tears he was laughing so hard.  Charlie was fanning herself with her cards; she’d given herself the hiccups.  Cas just looked perplexed.</p><p><br/> “How could racism, smallpox blankets, and the Virginia Tech Massacre—”</p><p><br/> “They’re not,” Sam said.  “That’s…It’s funny because it’s horrible.  It’s really, really horrible.”</p><p><br/> “Oooh…Racism.”</p><p><br/> “Score!” Sam cried, plucking the black card off the table.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> They took a short break to load up on beer and junk food, then played two more full rotations around the table.  Charlie was ahead by two cards; Sam and Dean were tied for second place.  </p><p><br/> “Pee break!” Charlie announced.  Everyone except for Cas ran to a bathroom; Dean and Sam were the first to return to the kitchen and take their seats.</p><p> <br/> “You know, Sammy,” Dean said, “End of the world is any day now.  You should enjoy yourself while you still can.  Live a little.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  “I told you, I don’t like sour cream and onion chips.  You fed them too me way too much when I was little.”</p><p><br/> “Huh?  Oh.  No, I was talking about Eileen.  You guys totally have a thing going on.  Serious chemistry.”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes narrowed, his ears turning pink.  “I—That’s not—She’s not—”</p><p><br/> “Here’s the plan: We move into the media room to watch a movie—subtitled, of course.  Halfway through, I say I’m tired and decide to turn in for the night.  Ash will follow me.  Cas, you excuse yourself saying you have to talk to Heaven or something.  That just leaves Charlie, and I’ll explain to her when she gets back—”</p><p><br/> “Explain what?” Charlie asked from behind him.  </p><p><br/> Dean spun around.  “Oh!  Hey.  I’m just trying to give Sam a little alone time with Eileen.”</p><p><br/> Sam crossed his arms.  “Guys, I don’t need—”</p><p><br/> “Sure.  No problem.”  Charlie yawned.  “Honestly, I could pass out right now.  Today was…A lot.”</p><p><br/> “Dean!” Sam snapped.</p><p><br/> “What?”  Dean gave his brother his best innocent look.  “I think Eileen will appreciate having you all to herself.  Don’t sweat it—I doubt she wants to have sex with you.”</p><p><br/> “Dean—”</p><p><br/> “We’re back!” Eileen said from the doorway, Ash right behind her.  </p><p><br/> “Great!” Dean said.  “How about a movie?”</p><p> Sam’s glare could have cut glass.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “No,” Dean said.  “Absolutely not.  No way.”</p><p><br/> “It’s settled, then,” Sam said, ignoring his brother and opening the Blu-ray player.  “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.”</p><p><br/> Dean sighed and settled back in his seat.  He’d asked for this, he supposed, by suggesting they all watch something.  Sam and Charlie had been adamant about Harry Potter, and Eileen was happy to go along with them.  Even Ash seemed excited; the only person who remained at all neutral was Cas, who only knew about the movie from the pop-culture brain dump Metatron had given him years ago: He knew the Harry Potter story, but had never actually read the books or watched the movies.  Dean would have to suck it up.  After all, he was only planning on staying for the first half, anyway.  Then Sam could have his alone time with Eileen, and Dean would have done possibly his last good deed as a big brother, depending on how much longer he had to live.  </p><p><br/> Dean motioned for Ash to sit down next to him.  She seemed to be in a lighter mood, because she snuggled up to him right away.  He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tighter against him.  If he was going to die (again) in the next 24-48 hours, he was going to get as much ‘Ash time’ in as he could.  </p><p><br/> Charlie grabbed Cas’s arm as he went to sit down and whispered something to him; he looked from her to the seat, and nodded, moving to sit on Ash’s other side.  Charlie took an armchair, forcing Sam and Eileen to share a second, smaller couch.  </p><p><br/> Sam raised an eyebrow at the room in general, but didn’t object to the seating arrangement.  “Charlie, you want to give people a summary of what’s happened in the last four books, so everyone’s caught up?”</p><p><br/> As the movie began, Charlie gave a quick Cliff’s Notes version of Harry Potter books one through four, rattling the information off as if she’d taught a class on it.  She knew Harry Potter like Sam and Dean knew monsters: Ash was impressed.  </p><p><br/> Dean wondered how long he should stay before he ran away, leaving Sam alone with Eileen.  He looked at his phone: They’d been watching for a while now.  This was probably a good time to start yawning and head out—</p><p><br/> Ash inhaled sharply.  Dean looked back at the screen: There was a dragon.  &lt;Oh, crap.&gt;  The Nephilim’s eyes widened and she leaned forward, glued to the screen like a cat watching a birdfeeder.  &lt;Well, I guess we aren’t leaving now,&gt; Dean thought.  He glanced over at his brother and Eileen: They weren’t sitting closer to each other, as he’d hoped, but they would occasionally sign something to the other.  Signing wasn’t designed for cuddling, Dean decided.  He would still give his brother a chance to get to know Eileen better on his own, even if all they did was talk.  </p><p><br/> Dean waited for Harry to bring the dragon’s egg up to the girls’ bathroom before yawning dramatically.  “Oh man, I’m beat.  I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”</p><p><br/> Sam shot him a brief glare.</p><p><br/> Charlie hesitated.  She was exhausted, but she loved this movie.  She’d already fallen asleep twice.  She had it saved to her laptop, though, so she could just finish it in bed.  “Yeah, me too.  Remind me which room is mine?”</p><p><br/> “I’ll show you.  You good, Cas?” Dean said meaningfully.</p><p><br/> “Yes, I’m fine.”  He stared at Dean for another beat.  “Although, I should probably check in on Angel Radio.”</p><p><br/> Eileen looked crestfallen.  “No one wants to stay and finish the movie?”</p><p><br/> “They’re just trying to set us up,” Sam signed to her.  “I told Dean he can shove it—”</p><p><br/> “That’s kind of sweet of him,” Eileen replied.  “He’s actually trying to do something nice for you.”</p><p><br/> “Well, he does think we’re all going to die.”</p><p><br/> “Yes, but you’re Winchesters.  Death seems to be a temporary state for you.”</p><p><br/> Sam laughed nervously.  He’d been trying very hard not to think about Lucifer all day, but it wasn’t possible.  At least, this time, he wouldn’t be stuck in the Cage with him.  He’d be on his own, tortured by ordinary demons.  It would be like a vacation, really.  “I don’t think someone’s going to bring us back every time.  Eventually, our luck’s going to run out.”  &lt;If you could call the shit-storm that was his life ‘lucky.’&gt;  “You want to finish the movie?  We can watch ‘The Half-Blood Prince after, since Dean isn’t here.”</p><p><br/> Eileen nodded.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash stopped Castiel outside his door.  “Can I talk to you for a second?”</p><p><br/> “Of course.  Come in.”  He held the door open for her, and shut it behind them.  </p><p><br/> Ash bit her lower lip, unsure how to begin.  Might as well dive in, she thought; get straight to the point.  “Can you tell me about the Empty?”</p><p><br/> Castiel tilted his head, looking at her curiously.  He straightened, and gestured for her to sit at the foot of his bed.  “You’re afraid of dying.”</p><p><br/> She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.  “I always knew how it was going to end, I just…Didn’t think it would be so soon.  I know the Empty is where we go when we die, but…What is it like?”</p><p><br/> The angel sat down beside her.  “It’s just like being asleep.  You’ll dream about the life you lived.  For many angels, that’s not so bad.  For demons…Well, it’s not great.”<br/> Ash had a pretty good life, she thought.  If she dreamed about the humans she’d lived with, especially Sam and Dean, that wouldn’t be so bad.  Death might be okay; it was just the dying bit that was going to suck.  </p><p><br/> She fiddled with the chains on her handcuffs.  “We’re going to win.  Aren’t we?”</p><p><br/> Castiel put his hand over hers and squeezed.  “Right now, I have more faith in Agnes Nutter than I do in my Father.  She saw you defeat Lucifer, therefore you can.”  He released her.  “She also saw you and Lucifer destroy the world, but…I have faith.”</p><p><br/> “Um.  Thanks, I think.”</p><p><br/> “Death isn’t a sure thing, Ash.  We don’t just need you to kill Lucifer; we need you to resurrect the angels.  There are so few now, and many more will die in the war against Hell.  You’ll have to be alive to do that.”</p><p><br/> Ash sat up straighter.  She hadn’t thought of it like that before.  Although, it was entirely probable that resurrecting hundreds of angels would be the death of her.  Still…Just dreaming, right?  Dreaming wasn’t so bad.  At least Lucifer wouldn’t be in her dreams this time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “This is you,” Dean said, stopping outside Charlie’s door.</p><p><br/> “Thanks.”  She paused with her hand on the doorknob.  “How long have you and Ash been a thing?”</p><p><br/> Dean jumped like he’d been stung.  “What?!”</p><p><br/> “Hello?  The chick you were snuggling with on the couch all night?  The one you can’t seem to stay more than a foot away from?  How long has that been a thing?”</p><p><br/> “Uh…Not…Very…Um…It’s complicated…”</p><p><br/> Charlie smiled.  She’d never seen Dean so flustered.  “Are Sam and Cas okay with it?  I mean, she’s not exactly human.”</p><p><br/> “Them?  Oh, yeah.  Sure.  I mean, nothing’s really &lt;happened,&gt; but that’s…More complicated—”</p><p><br/> Charlie gave him a blank stare.  “You…Are in a relationship with a girl…And you haven’t slept with her.  Who are you, and what have you done with Dean Winchester?  Seriously, I should test you for possession.  Maybe a shifter?”</p><p><br/> “Ha ha.”  He glanced down the hall to Cas’s door, where Ash could emerge at any moment.  “Maybe I’ve matured since the last time you saw me.”</p><p><br/> Charlie smirked.  “Definitely a shifter.”  She patted her pockets.  “Hold on, I’ve got silver somewhere…”</p><p><br/> Dean laughed and grabbed her arm to stop her.  “Oh, that reminds me—Ash is vulnerable to silver, so keep that away from her.”</p><p><br/> Cas’s door opened and Ash stepped out.  She looked uncharacteristically somber, like she was heading to a funeral—possibly her own, given the circumstances.  Dean let go of Charlie, and she patted his arm.  “It’s always complicated,” she said.  “Good night, Dean.”</p><p><br/> “Night, Charlie.”  He yawned, for real this time, and walked to his own room just as Ash reached the door.  “You okay?”</p><p><br/> She nodded without looking at him, her eyes staring at nothing.  She stepped inside his room and exhaled deeply, sitting down at the foot of the bed.  Her eyes remained unfocused; Dean glanced at her hands, and was relieved to see that Cas hadn’t taken the handcuffs off.  He didn’t have to worry about her getting emotional and setting things on fire or blowing them up accidentally.  </p><p><br/> “I’ll be out in a sec,” he said, grabbing pajama bottoms and disappearing into the bathroom.  When he emerged several minutes later and ready for bed, he was mildly alarmed to see that Ash hadn’t moved at all.  “Ash?”</p><p><br/> She blinked and looked up at him, her eyes finally focusing on his face.  “Hmm?  Sorry, I’m just…Tired.”</p><p><br/> “Well, it’s late.  You should get some sleep.  We might have more hunters arriving tomorrow night.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  Okay.”</p><p><br/> Dean sat down on his side of the bed and opened his laptop.  Ash still hadn’t moved.</p><p><br/> “Ash.”  She was starting to freak him out just a little.  He felt like an ass giving her an order, especially since they had this…Relationship-y thing going on, but it seemed to be the only thing she responded to sometimes.  “Lie down.”</p><p><br/> She finally became animated, scooting up the bed and lying down on her side.  Dean leaned back, propping the laptop up on his knees, and checked for the latest Apocalypse-related news.  It looked to be more of the same: the plagues continued to ravish the world, and the world inched closer to World War III.  He clicked on one of his streaming services and pulled up cartoons; there was no point in getting stressed out over something he couldn’t control.  </p><p><br/> He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and saw the sigils on Ash’s handcuffs light up for a moment.  Hmm.  She was &lt;extremely&gt; stressed if she was activating the cuffs.  She couldn’t break through them, though.  Could she?  The only entity that had been able to override them, that he knew of, was Lucifer.  </p><p><br/> “Wanna talk about it?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “It’s not really a ‘Dean’ kind of conversation.”</p><p><br/> “What—what’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p><br/> “It’s more like…Emotional stuff.  Sam’s kind of thing.  You know?”</p><p><br/> Dean set his computer off to the side.  “Hey—You can talk to me about anything.  Even dumb shit like—Hang on, I didn’t mean ‘dumb’—”</p><p><br/> Ash rolled onto her back and looked up at him.  “Please.  Crowley’s more in touch with his feelings than you are,” she said with a smirk.  </p><p><br/> “Oh really?  Is that a challenge?”</p><p><br/> “No, I just—”</p><p><br/> “Alright, bring it on.  Let’s go full chick flick!”  Dean sank down to Ash’s level, propping himself up on his elbow.  “So what’s eatin’ you, kid?”</p><p><br/> Ash laughed at his absurdity and scooted away from him.  “Forget it.  I don’t even remember what I wasn’t going to tell you.”</p><p><br/> “No, you don’t get out of it that easy!  My pride’s on the line now—I have to show you I’m better than a demon!”  He grabbed her arm, halting her escape.</p><p><br/> Ash’s smile vanished and her eyes darkened.  “He’s not just any demon,” she growled.  “He’s &lt;my&gt; demon.”  </p><p><br/> The handcuffs flared red, and Dean released her.  His playful smile was replaced with more serious expression.  “Crowley’s gonna be okay.  He’s a conniving little bastard—wouldn’t surprise me if he &lt;let&gt; Lucifer catch him.  I bet everything’s going according to plan for him.”</p><p><br/> Ash didn’t see how being tortured by Lucifer could be part of the plan, but it was nice to hear Dean say so anyway.  “Yeah…”</p><p><br/> Dean’s smile returned.  “See?  I’m good at this stuff.  Keep going.”</p><p><br/> She rolled her eyes.  Did he have to treat it like some sort of game or contest?  Still, talking to him was probably better than sulking all night.  “Fine.”  She fiddled with the chain links on her cuffs for a moment.  “I just…Wish I had more time.”</p><p><br/> Dean tilted his head.  “More time.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  You know—” she gestured vaguely toward the ceiling.  “My whole life, I knew this was coming, and sometimes I wished it would hurry up and get here, but now that it’s here…I’m not ready.  I should be, but I’m not.  I’m not strong enough to fight him; if I had more time, maybe…”  She shrugged.  “I just…Want more time to be alive.  Cas says there’s no guarantee I’ll die, but I don’t see how it could end any other way.”</p><p><br/> Dean scooted closer to her and wrapped his arm around her waist; she rolled onto her side and pressed her back against him.  This kind of emotional crap, he could handle.  He and Sammy had handled it so many times before.</p><p><br/> “I know.  When I made that demon deal and had a year to live, I knew that hellhound was going to come after me.  I knew it was going to kill me, but I still wondered if there was something I could do to stop it.  Waiting for it to happen…That was the worst part.  Well, that and getting mauled by a hellhound.”  He sat up so that he could grab a blanket and pull it over them, falling back into position against her.  “We knew Sam was going to dive into the Cage with Lucifer.  We knew it for a while—Sam had decided he was going to do it long before I was on board with it—but waiting for it to happen…I wanted more time with him.  Not knowing what’s going to happen is rough, but knowing exactly what’s going to happen and doing it anyway—it sucks.”</p><p><br/> “So how do you deal with it?”</p><p><br/> “Whiskey, mostly.  Sometimes beer, but you have to drink a lot more.”</p><p><br/> “Thanks, that helps,” she said sarcastically.</p><p><br/> “You asked.”</p><p><br/> “Hmm.  Maybe I should try getting drunk.”</p><p><br/> “Oh, no.  I’m not having a rain of eels or…Spontaneous human combustion in the bunker.  Things are bad enough outside.”</p><p><br/> Ash held her hands up.  “That’s what these are for,” she said, jingling the handcuffs.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah…And they’re working great, but let’s not push our luck.”  </p><p><br/> “Ugh.  Fine.  What do you do when you can’t get drunk?”  She turned her head toward him.  “Are you ever not drunk?”</p><p>Dean play-punched her shoulder.  “Am I ever—of course I’m not drunk all the time!  I can drink a LOT without getting drunk.  I have a very high tolerance.”</p><p><br/> Ash rolled her eyes.  “Right.  My mistake.  So, any suggestions…?”</p><p><br/> “I dunno.  Do what makes you happy.  When I knew I was gonna lose Sam, even though we were kind of in a fight about it, I tried to spend as much time with him as I could.  And when he wasn’t there, I watched a lot of porn.  Uh, that probably doesn’t help you…”</p><p><br/> “Not so much.”  </p><p><br/> “Well, uh…What about Crowley?  He seems to make you happy, for some inexplicable reason.”</p><p><br/> Ash turned around to face him and gave him her best glare.  </p><p><br/> “Kidding!  Kidding!...Sort of.  Anyway, you can’t be with him, but I can be the next best thing—we used to hang out all the time, when I was…Yeah, anyway.  I think I can do a pretty spot-on impersonation.”  He cleared his throat.  When he spoke again, he had a comically fake British accent.  “Hello, Ash.  Miss me?”</p><p><br/> Ash bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling.  “Dean—”</p><p><br/> He put a finger to her lips, silencing her.  “Ah, you and Squirrel are still thick as theives, I see.  He’s being good to you, I hope?  If not, I’d be more than happy to pull his entrails out his throat.”</p><p><br/> She rolled her eyes.  Alright, she’d play along.  “Thanks, but the, uh, entrails won’t be necessary.”</p><p><br/> “Bollocks!”</p><p><br/> Ash giggled.  Dean smiled.</p><p><br/> “You know you sound like a pirate,” Ash said.</p><p><br/> “Yarr, I’m Crowley!”</p><p><br/> She burst out laughing.  </p><p><br/> “Shiver me timbers, I’ll take your soul and gut you whole!”</p><p><br/> “He would totally kill you if he could hear you right now!”</p><p><br/> “Arrr, he could try, matey.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> On the other side of the hall, Castiel was sitting cross-legged on his bed, listening to increasingly urgent messages.  Divine intervention hadn’t been used in millennia, and certainly never on the scale they were planning now.  But they had to get the humans under control or there wouldn’t be any Earth left, regardless of whether Lucifer won or lost.  A few angels had managed to convince high-ranking political figures  to let them possess them, but most humans weren’t open to that sort of thing.  Extreme measures had to be employed, up to an including physically overpowering some world leaders and preventing them from declaring war on everyone else.  There were a few demons on Heavens’ payroll, and they were now being used to forcefully possess the more dangerous and less compliant presidents and prime ministers.  </p><p><br/> &lt;We need your help, Castiel.  There just aren’t enough of us,&gt; the angel Alexander said.</p><p><br/> &lt;What about the Nephilim?  If Lucifer finds her first—&gt;</p><p><br/> &lt;Your humans.  The…Winchesters,&gt; he said, pronouncing the name as if it was an embarrassing STD.  &lt;They can watch over her.  Despite their numerous failings in the past, I see no reason why they could not keep her secured in their bunker.&gt;</p><p><br/> Castiel decided that now was not the time to dispute his friends’ ‘numerous failings.’  &lt;Alright.  What do you need me to do?&gt;   </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15: The End of the World, Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's the final countdown...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello!  If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading!  I feel like I haven't really done this chapter justice, but I'm posting anyway just to keep moving forward.  Also I seem to be incapable of writing decent smut, which is a tragedy because there's supposed to be a lot more of it later on.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean woke up and immediately reached for his whiskey, taking a healthy swig from the bottle before he even bothered to check the news.  Ash sat up quickly, like she’d been shocked.  </p><p><br/> “What’s happening?” she asked, already on Full Red Alert.</p><p><br/> “Nothing’s happening; relax.  I just woke up.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.”  Ash looked around the room, reassuring herself that they were not, in fact, under attack.  Satisfied, she leaned back against the pillows, waiting for Dean to check his laptop.</p><p><br/> “Okay, let’s see if the world’s still standing.”  He grabbed his computer and pulled up all of the leading news feeds on separate tabs, clicking through them one by one.  All around the world, people were battling Lucifer’s unnatural disasters, but not everything was bad news.  The President of France was urging peaceful cooperation among the nations, as was the President of Brazil and the Prime Minister of New Zealand.  North Korea had attempted to bomb South Korea, but miraculously both missiles had missed their targets and landed in unpopulated areas, following which the entire computer infrastructure responsible for deploying missiles had caught fire and exploded.</p><p><br/> “That sounds &lt;too&gt; miraculous.  I wonder if Cas knows anything about this stuff?  Come on; let’s see what he’s been up to on Angel Radio.”</p><p><br/> Dean got up and dressed; while he was in the bathroom, Ash rolled out of bed to change as well.  She pulled her shirt over her head, and realized she couldn’t take it off while the cuffs were on.  With an indignant huff, she put the shirt back on.  </p><p><br/> “You alright?” Dean asked when he emerged.</p><p><br/> “I can’t change my shirt,” she grumbled.</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Right.  Hang on a sec…”  He reached under the bed and pulled out a small ammo box.  Inside was a keyring with about a dozen keys on it: He held them up, searching for the right one.  “Here we go.”  He grabbed Ash’s wrist and put the key in the lock.  “I’m only undoing one side.  You still won’t be able to use your power.”</p><p><br/> She nodded.  While she changed shirts, she checked to see if she would be able to shift (just in case Dean didn’t know what he was talking about).  But nothing happened.</p><p><br/> Dean clicked the cuffs back in place, and they went to find Castiel.  He wasn’t in his room, so they checked the kitchen, where they found a note: <br/> &lt;Have to take care of an emergency in Russia.  And possibly China.  Probably America.  Keep Ash safe.  Do not leave Bunker.&gt;</p><p><br/> “Great.  We lost Cas.”  Dean leaned against the table, drumming his fingers against the wood.  “Okay.  Everything’s fine.  We just…Wait for him to get back.”</p><p><br/> Charlie appeared in the doorway, yawning.  “We lost Cas?”</p><p><br/> Dean jumped.  “Temporarily.  He’s gone to stop the world from blowing itself up, I think.”</p><p><br/> “Good someone ought to.  What do you have for breakfast?”</p><p><br/> “Bacon.  Eggs.  Um…I can do pancakes…”</p><p><br/> Charlie opened the fridge and sniffed a bottle of orange juice.  It didn’t smell fermented, and that was good enough for her.  “Sounds good.”  She located a cup and poured herself a drink.  “Want help?”</p><p><br/> “You can make a pot of coffee.  Filters are in the cabinet to your left.”</p><p><br/> She opened the door.  “So, what’s the plan?  I assume there is one, other than ‘wait for Cas’?”  She spun to look at Dean when he remained silent.  “’Wait for Cas’ is the plan?!”</p><p><br/> Dean sniff-tested an open pack of bacon and set it beside the stove.  “Cas says that Ash can’t fight Lucifer until all the angels are ready to go.  And right now, all the angels are busy.  So yeah, we wait for Cas to tell us it’s ‘go time.’”</p><p><br/> The sound of something falling in the media room caught their attention; Ash went to investigate.</p><p><br/> Sam stretched out on the recliner, grabbing the remote that had fallen on the floor.  Eileen yawned and sat up on the couch.  They’d fallen asleep talking: Ash smiled and retreated to the kitchen without being noticed.  </p><p><br/> “Sam and Eileen passed out watching the movie,” she told Dean and Charlie.</p><p><br/> Dean’s face lit up.  They may not have hooked up, but they’d enjoyed each other’s company at least.  Mission accomplished.</p><p> <br/> Sam appeared a few moments later, looking like he’d slept in a chair that wasn’t quite big enough.</p><p> <br/> “Coffee in a minute,” Charlie said.  </p><p><br/> “Thanks.”  Sam ran a hand through his hair to straighten it.  “I got a text from Garth.  He’ll be here in a few hours.  Says the roads are getting better, but power’s out across most of the state, and the wildlife’s getting worse.”  He held up a photo Garth had sent him of a pack of wolves walking down the side of the road, their mouths full of frog legs.</p><p><br/> Dean showed him the note from Cas.  “He can hurry up and wait with the rest of us.”</p><p><br/> Eileen wandered into the kitchen, and Sam filled her in on the situation.  She smiled, but the look in her eyes said the same thing Ash had been thinking: &lt;Hurry up and wait to die.&gt;  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Breakfast was quiet, lacking the light-hearted comradery from the night before.  Jody Mills called, saying she was on her way with Donna and the girls in the toughest police car she could get her hands on.  Though she wasn’t about to let Claire and Alex face off against the Devil, she thought they’d be safer in the bunker than out in the real world.  Bill and Gavin, two hunters they’d met a while back, called to say they wanted in, assuming they could find their way around a massive wall of animal carcasses that had built up in northern Texas.  They said the flies were so bad, it was worse than driving in fog, and damn harder to clear off the windshield.  Garth called back to say he had a few more contacts that would show up, barring any unnatural disasters that kept them at bay.  </p><p><br/> Ash grew more anxious as more hunters were announced.  It was alright having people that Sam and Dean knew and trusted, and she supposed that if they trusted Garth, that meant he had good enough judgment to trust his own hunter friends; but she didn’t like the idea of being stuck in the bunker with a bunch of people who normally wouldn’t blink twice at the thought of killing her.  Especially since she was stuck in the Enochian handcuffs.  </p><p><br/> Dean hung up on Garth and set another box of bullets on the armory table.  Charlie, Eileen, and Ash were carving more Devil’s traps into regular bullets, since their supply of demon-killing bullets was laughably small.  Charlie, having spent years painting miniatures for D&amp;D, had a special knack for the task, and Eileen’s manual dexterity made her a natural.  Ash was having trouble with hand-eye coordination, but at least it was taking her mind off of other things.  Sam’s big hands always made small-scale work like this difficult, so he busied himself by sorting and cleaning weapons and loading them into their vehicles.  Dean moved fairly constantly between the girls and his brother, relaying news about the other hunters and carrying ammo back and forth.  </p><p><br/> “Ouch!” Ash hissed, dropping one of the new bullets.  She sucked on her finger, the skin burning.</p><p><br/> “Sorry, my bad,” Dean said, plucking the offending bullet and shoving it back in the box.  He closed it up and set it in a separate pile, taking out a sharpie and writing ‘silver’ on it.  </p><p><br/> “Do you think we’ll need those?” Eileen asked, reading his hastily-scrawled label.  </p><p><br/> “I wouldn’t doubt it.  Lucifer won’t just have demons working for him: He’ll have all the big guys.  Werewolves, shifters, vamps—any monster that has the capacity to take and follow orders.”</p><p><br/> &lt;Great,&gt; Ash thought, &lt;There will be TWO kinds of bullets that can kill me.  Plus, you know…Lucifer.&gt;</p><p> </p><p> Garth was the first to arrive in the evening, and the storm followed him in, stronger than ever. Lightning danced across the sky, the thunder so loud it shook the garage.  Hail the size of marbles pelted down, mixing with freezing cold rain.  The front of his car was caked with frozen insects and frog guts, his wheel wells clogged with chunks of ice and amphibian.  </p><p><br/> “Lovely weather we’re having,” Garth greeted them, shaking sleet out of his hair.</p><p><br/> “Yeah?  It’s only gonna get worse,” Dean replied.  “Another couple days, it’ll all be fire and brimstone.”</p><p><br/> Garth kept his grin.  “’S okay, I don’t have any plans for the weekend.”</p><p><br/> Jody and the girls were next.  Donna, Claire, and Alex were all soaking wet and covered in mud from having to push their car out of, over, and around every obstacle the Apocalypse threw at them.  Jody looked shell-shocked, and she was having a hard time un-clenching her hands.  </p><p><br/> “The storm knocked out some fences at a zoo,” Donna said, pulling their bags out of the trunk.  “We passed a very sad-looking elephant.”</p><p><br/> “And a tiger!” Claire said.  “It was trying to catch an octopus that had fallen in the road when it rained fish—did you hear it rained fish?  Anyway, the octopus was NOT having it.  Eventually, it gave up and found a regular fish.”</p><p><br/> Dean introduced them to Ash.  </p><p><br/> “Oh, Claire told us all about her,” Alex said.</p><p> <br/> “Claire!” Sam scolded.</p><p><br/> Claire shot Alex a nasty look.  “I told you not to say anything!”</p><p><br/> A hunter trio showed up soon after the girls: Garth introduced them as Jonathan, Simon, and Danielle.  They’d been friends with Bobby for ages, and when he passed, they went to Garth for help.  Jonathan and Simon were brothers, three years apart, and Danielle was their cousin.  Jonathan looked like the Brawny paper towel man: Big, burly, and hairy, and nearly as tall as Sam.  Simon was just as burly but shorter and with less facial hair.  Danielle shared her cousin’s penchant for height, but she had a slender, more feminine build, with long blonde hair and a thin, birdlike face.  Dean thought he deserved major brownie points for not openly ogling her, though Ash saw him perk up when she stepped into the bunker, shirt soaking wet, the thin fabric clinging to her cleavage.  And there was a lot of cleavage to cling to.  </p><p><br/> The newcomers eyed Ash warily, focusing on the Enochian handcuffs.  Garth assured them there was nothing to be afraid of, that they were all on the same side.  The boys seemed to take Garth’s word for it, but Danielle kept her distance.</p><p><br/> Bill and Gavin arrived during a short break in the storm.  Bill had torn a pectoral muscle trying to lift a fallen tree out of the road, which automatically benched him from the fight against Lucifer.  He was now trying to convince Gavin to stay at the bunker with him, and out of harm’s way, but Gavin wasn’t having it.  The partners had no problem taking Garth’s word about Ash, however.  They had him go over, twice, the bit where she possibly helped Lucifer destroy the world, but Garth assured them that she was not going to bend to his will.  </p><p><br/> Just as the weather was picking back up, two more of Garth’s friends arrived.  Sarah and Olivia were young and had only been hunting for a few years, but they were determined to do what they could to stop the end of the world.  Olivia was very friendly and very attractive: Though he knew she was over 18, she screamed ‘jailbait’ to Dean.  She didn’t seem capable of talking to someone without touching them.  Sarah, on the other hand, was quiet and on the plain side.  The first word that sprang to mind was ‘dumpy,’ though part of the issue could have been that she was covered in mud and sleet, and there were twigs stuck in her hair.  </p><p><br/> <br/> The new arrivals took turns showering and changing into dry clothes while Sam and Dean cooked.  Since Eileen and Charlie were already settled in, they helped sort people into guest rooms and showed them around.  Ash stayed glued to Dean’s side, wary of the strange hunters.  If one of them decided to attack her, she was defenseless.  The war room buzzed with chatter:  Sam and Dean kept the food and beer coming, and eventually the chatter transitioned from how-is-your-family to how-do-we-kill-Lucifer.  Ash kept quiet for the most part, not wanting to call attention to herself amidst a slew of people who killed things like her every day.  </p><p><br/> The hail became more audible as the night wore on, and a quick check outside determined that it had increased to golf ball size.  The group discussed their available weapons and ammunition, had a refresher course on devil’s traps and other useful symbols they could make, and went over a list of the likely monsters they might encounter in addition to demons.  Lucifer could have any number of baddies under his wings, the most likely being vampires, werewolves, and shifters: They were the most ‘human’ monsters, and the most willing to form groups and take orders.  He would have a harder time attracting the wilder things, like wendigos and banshees, and it would be difficult for him to have any ghosts on his team, since he’d have to go around collecting the things they were attached to, which were often locations.  And he probably had a few angels on his payroll as well, just to put the icing on the cake.  </p><p><br/> Donna and Jody gave a quick refresher course on vampires, for those who weren’t familiar with them.  Garth talked about werewolves; Gavin recalled a particularly nasty hunt where he and Bill had gone up against a group of shifters that had formed into a cult.  Sam covered demons, silently daring anyone to so much as &lt;mention&gt; Ruby, Lilith, Azazel, or drinking demon blood.  The point was, he knew damn well what he was talking about.  Dean spoke briefly about the angels, though he urged the group to let angels handle other angels, and to focus on demons and other monsters that were more…Down to Earth.  </p><p><br/> The bunker’s ‘doorbell’ security alert went off, indicating there was someone outside.  Dean looked at his phone: it was just after 10 pm.</p><p> <br/> “Hey, Garth.  You expecting anyone else?”</p><p><br/> Garth shook his head and looked to Sam.  Sam shook his head and shrugged.  </p><p><br/> “Right.”  He drew his pistol, checked that it was loaded, and motioned for Sam and Garth to follow him.  “Ash, go to my room and don’t come out until I tell you.  Charlie, Eileen, go with her.  She’s not good with weapons.”</p><p><br/> “But—” Ash started.</p><p><br/> “That’s an order,” he snapped.</p><p><br/> Ash shut her mouth, glaring at Dean.  She turned on her heel and let the two young women follow her back to his room.</p><p> <br/> “He’s just trying to protect you,” Charlie said.  “It’s kind of sweet, in a misogynistic kind of way.”</p><p><br/> “He’s protecting humanity,” Ash grumbled, sitting down on the bed.</p><p> <br/> “Side note, Danielle’s cute.”</p><p><br/> Eileen smiled.  “She’s very friendly.  Her brother’s not bad, either.”</p><p><br/> Charlie laughed.  “You have a type, don’t you?  Jonathan is just a small version of Sam.”</p><p><br/> “But he has very broad shoulders,” Eileen pointed out.  “And his arms are more muscular.”</p><p><br/> “Hmm.  We’ll have to get to know them better, won’t we?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean had Garth on his left and Sam on his right.  Jody and Donna were crouched in the stairwell, ready to provide backup, and Gavin stood at the base of the stairs, ready to alert the other hunters at the first sign of trouble.  Dean nodded to his brother, and swung the door open.</p><p><br/> A red-headed woman in a dark green gown stood before him.  Despite the wind, sleet, and hail that swirled around her, she remained dry, and not a hair on her head was out of place.  </p><p><br/> “Rowena!” Dean growled.  He raised his gun: Though it didn’t have witch-killing bullets, it would still piss her off.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, Dean.” She peered around the corner, ignoring the pistol in her face.  “Samuel.  How have you been?  And…I don’t believe we’ve met…?”</p><p><br/> “Garth,” said Garth, unsure if he should raise or lower his own weapon.  He didn’t know much about the witch, but he’d heard she’d been helpful in the past (when she wasn’t trying to kill them).  </p><p><br/> “What do you want?” Dean snapped.  “We’re a little busy at the moment.”</p><p><br/> “Yes, I would imagine it has something to do with Lucifer rising and starting the Apocalypse.  Again.”</p><p><br/> “It wasn’t our fault this time!” Sam said.</p><p><br/> Rowena looked momentarily surprised; then her smile returned.  “Anyhow, I’m here to offer my services in the fight against the Devil.  So you could, perhaps, let me in?”</p><p><br/> Dean laughed, lowering his gun but keeping the safety off.  “You’re here to help.  Right.”</p><p><br/> “Why should we trust you?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> The witch looked hurt.  “I want Lucifer gone just as much as anyone.  Surely you remember what he did to me last time he was topside?  Not to mention what he’s done to my son!”</p><p><br/> Dean smiled faintly at the thought of Rowena being barbequed alive.  He shook his head.  “You hate Crowley.”</p><p><br/> She shrugged.  “A mother’s love is hard to understand.  I wouldn’t expect the two of you to know anything about it.”</p><p><br/> Sam rolled his eyes.  “What do you need?”</p><p><br/> “Just a few minor ingredients.  This and that.  Access to your library, of course.  I have one recipe for demon bombs, but I’m afraid it doesn’t pack quite the punch I was hoping for.  I know there are better ones, and you’ve got access to them.”</p><p><br/> “Bombs?” Garth repeated.</p><p><br/> “Yes, dear.  Just as effective as an angel blade, but from a distance.  Mine hardly covers any ground at all, but I’ve read accounts of the things that have a fifteen-foot radius or more.”</p><p> “How many can you make?” Sam asked.</p><p><br/> “Sam!” Dean hissed.  “You’re not really considering—”</p><p><br/> “With a few helping hands and the right ingredients, I’d say two, maybe three hundred in a day.  Would come in quite handy, don’t you think?”</p><p><br/> “We’ll pass,” Dean said.</p><p><br/> “Dean.”  Sam pulled his brother back, nodding to Garth to keep his eyes on the witch.  In a low voice, he said: “We could use her help.  It’s a handful of hunters and a few hundred angels, if that, against every monster Lucifer can dig up.  There’re millions of them.  We need all the help we can get.”</p><p><br/> “Not hers.”</p><p> “Dean!  She’s helped us before.  With Lucifer.  Remember?”</p><p><br/> Dean clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together.  She had helped them before.  But that didn’t mean they could trust her.  Hell, Crowley didn’t trust her, and he knew her better than anyone.  “Fine.  But we keep an eye on her.”</p><p><br/> “Of course.”</p><p><br/> They turned back to Rowena, who smiled brightly.  “So it’s settled, then?  Wonderful.”  She grabbed an enormous suitcase that had been parked against the side of the building and wheeled it inside.  </p><p><br/> “One more thing,” Dean said, barring her way.  “Everyone gets tested.”  He splashed her with holy water and made her hold a silver candlestick.  She’d already walked through the devil’s trap on the ceiling, just as every guest had before her.  </p><p><br/> Rowena wiped her face on her sleeve.  “That was refreshing.  Right.  Shall we begin in the library?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean left Sam and Garth in charge of the witch and went to warn everyone about her.  He passed out their supply of witch-killing bullets and had everyone make their own protective hex bag.  They would supervise her in shifts, helping her with construction of the demon bombs at the same time.  </p><p><br/> “If you’re not on witch duty, I suggest you get some rest,” he said.  “We don’t know what tomorrow’s going to bring, but it’s not gonna be pretty.  If this is the last night’s sleep you ever get, might as well make it a good one.”</p><p><br/> He retreated to his room, needing to deal with one more thing.</p><p><br/> “It’s Rowena,” he told the girls.  “We’re going to let her help us.”</p><p><br/> Ash’s eyes went wide in alarm.  “Crowley’s mom?”</p><p><br/> “Sam’s watching her.  And Garth.  There’s always going to be at least two people watching her.  Just to be safe, though, I don’t want you to leave this room without me.”</p><p><br/> Her fingers threaded through the chains between her wrists, forming tight fists.  This was not a good time to be without her powers.</p><p><br/> “We’re not going to let her get close to you,” Dean said.  “I promise.”  He turned to Charlie and Eileen.  “You guys should get some sleep.  Big day tomorrow.  Probably.”</p><p><br/> “&lt;Last&gt; day tomorrow,” Charlie said.</p><p><br/> &lt;I should have slept with Sam when I had the chance,&gt; thought Eileen.  &lt;What an anti-climactic way to go out.&gt;</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Ash didn’t know how she was supposed to sleep with a bunch of hunters in the bunker AND Rowena AND the end of the world on the horizon.  Dean must have been having the same problem, because he’d been pacing in front of the door for a good five minutes, opening and closing a switchblade.  </p><p><br/> “Dean.”  </p><p><br/> He shut the blade and turned to look at her.  </p><p><br/>“You don’t have to guard me all night.  I can go hang out with Eileen or Charlie, or Claire and Alex—"</p><p><br/> Dean tossed the knife onto a bookshelf, trading it out for a bottle of whiskey.  He knew he couldn’t get completely wasted with Rowena there—it was only a matter of time before she started trouble, and he’d need all his faculties to deal with her—but he needed to take the edge off.  “Nah, that’s okay.  I’m good here.”</p><p><br/> Ash watched him throw back his drink like it was water.  “I just thought you might have a better time with Olivia.  Or Danielle.  They seem…Available.”</p><p><br/> Dean choked and coughed, the alcohol burning the back of his throat.  Had she really just suggested that he sleep with one of the other hunters?  He turned to look at her.  Normally, when chicks said that sort of thing, it was because they were angry or bitter: They felt like he was focusing too much on other women, and they needed his reassurance that of &lt;course&gt; he would never so much as &lt;think&gt; of leaving them for someone else.  It was a whiny, childish ploy, and he hated it.  But Ash didn’t look bitter or angry.  She looked…Concerned.  Her fingers traced the Enochian symbols around her wrists, pressing the metal cuffs into her skin until it turned red.  </p><p><br/> “I, uh…” He coughed again and cleared his throat.  “Maybe a little &lt;too&gt; available, if you know what I mean.”</p><p><br/> She cocked her head to the side.  She didn’t know what he meant.  “When has that ever been a problem for you in the past?”</p><p><br/> Jesus, Dean thought, explaining the pizza boy to Cas was easier than talking to Ash.  “Things change.  People change.  After, you know…Hell, and—and Leviathan drugs, and satyrs, and cursed notebooks—look, the point is, I’ve done a lot of shit, but I’ve never cheated on anyone.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked more confused.  “I don’t think it counts as ‘cheating’ if I &lt;can’t&gt; have sex with you and they can.”</p><p><br/> “I don’t think you know shit about how relationships work.”</p><p><br/> “And you &lt;do&gt;?” Ash snapped back.  </p><p><br/> “Look—”  Dean cut himself off as the whiskey finally hit him.  His head tingled pleasantly: Though it was just a mild buzz, it was enough to calm his frayed nerves a bit.  He shook his head, and tried again, calmly: “I’m not hooking up with a random hunter I just met when I’ve already got you.”  He motioned for her to come closer; she rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest.  “End of discussion.”</p><p><br/> “Wha—You can’t ‘end of discussion’ me!  I’ve ripped the heads off Leviathans!  I killed a demon while it was possessing me!”  </p><p><br/> Dean smiled and slid over to her, wrapping his arms around her in a big bear hug.  “Is that a threat?”</p><p><br/> Ash snuggled up to him, unable to hug him back with the cuffs on.  “I’m hardly a threat to anyone right now.”</p><p><br/> He released her and shoved his hand into his pocket.  “Tell you what: We’ll both feel better about having Rowena here if you’re out of those cuffs.  But I need you to promise me you won’t try to leave.”</p><p><br/> Ash sat up straighter.  He was going to let her go?  She watched him fish around before retrieving the key.  “I promise.”</p><p><br/> “I’m not kidding, Ash.  Swear…Swear on Crowley’s life, that you won’t try to leave the bunker.”</p><p><br/> Her eyes narrowed.  Was he really going to go there?  Fine.  “I swear, on Crowley’s life, that I won’t try to leave the bunker.”</p><p><br/> She held out her hands, and Dean removed the handcuffs.  Her wrists were raw and red; she rolled them back and forth, flexing her fingers to try to restore her circulation.  <br/> “Better?”</p><p><br/> Ash nodded and kissed his cheek.  She finally felt like she could relax, in spite of the challenge (and almost certain death) that loomed ahead of her.  </p><p><br/> Dean turned and kissed her on the lips, a pleasant tingle running down his spine.  He was still worried about Ash and Sam and Cas and Rowena and Lucifer and all the other hunters in the Bunker, and the end of the world; but right now, they seemed to be safe.  Right now, it was just him and the nephilim, and he was 95% sure that she wasn’t a satyr disguised by a fairy-dust hallucination.  </p><p><br/> Okay, 90% sure.  Give or take about 10%.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Sam dipped another one of the cloth-covered balls in holy oil and set it on a cookie rack to dry with the others.  He was starting to go cross-eyed, keeping one eye on his work and the other on Rowena.  He had to be vigilant because Garth was passed out in a chair, still holding a bowl full of palm fronds that he’d rolled and tied off with rubber bands.  Occasionally, Rowena would walk over and grab a handful from the bowl without disturbing him.  </p><p><br/> “So, how is my granddaughter?” Rowena asked.</p><p><br/> “She’s…Fine.”  Sam wasn’t sure what she already knew about Ash, but he didn’t want to give her any more information, on the off chance she could use it against her.</p><p> <br/> “Fine?  That’s all I get?  Tell me who she is, Samuel.  What does she like to do?  What’s her personality?”</p><p><br/> Sam narrowed his eyes.  Those didn’t sound like dangerous questions, but he was still wary of saying too much.  “She’s…She likes hunting.  She’s good at tracking things down and killing them.  And she likes Dean.”  &lt;She likes Dean?  Did he really just say that?  Well, it was true; she followed him around like she was his dog—a dog that was in love with its owner, which was…Probably not weirder than anything else they’d come across, honestly.&gt;</p><p><br/> “Really?”  Rowena looked up from rolling finger bones in what looked like curry powder and smelled like durian.  “I would have thought you were more her type.”</p><p><br/> “What do you mean?”</p><p><br/> “Well, Dean is a little…Rough around the edges.  Stubborn.  Hot-headed.  And he’ll stab you soon as look at you, whereas you…”  She looked Sam up and down and smiled.  He instinctively took a step backward.  “You have empathy, Sam.  It’s what makes you so good with people.  And you love dogs.”</p><p><br/> &lt;She knows Ash is a shifter, then,&gt; Sam thought.  The way Rowena was looking at him, though, it was becoming increasingly harder to think at all.  &lt;Is she going to try to hex me?&gt; he wondered, taking another step back.  He glanced at Garth out of the corner of his eye: If the witch tried something, could he wake him up in time?</p><p><br/> “You’re also far more handsome,” Rowena continued, wiping her hands off on a spare piece of cloth.  “Dean might hold a certain appeal for today’s primitive youth, but an experienced woman such as myself can tell that you’re the real catch.”</p><p><br/> Sam blushed and backed into a lamp; startled, he spun to catch it before it crashed to the floor, then spun back to keep an eye on Rowena.  </p><p><br/> “You look tense, Samuel.  End of the world got you down?”</p><p><br/> He cleared his throat, one hand inching toward the gun stowed in his waistband.  “I’m fine.  Everything’s fine.  Just another day at the office.”</p><p><br/> “Hmm.  Right.”  She stepped closer, and her long gown swished elegantly around her legs as she moved.  Sam hadn’t noticed how low-cut it was until just now; had it always been like that, or had the neckline suddenly plunged lower?  There was more cleavage showing than any three-hundred-year-old woman should have.  Granted, for three hundred, she had a great body.  All things considered.  Not that he was considering them.</p><p><br/> “Are you sure you’re alright?”</p><p><br/> Sam blinked and shook his head, hastily looking away from her chest.  “Uh, I should probably…Get some rest…I’ll get Gavin and Bill to help with the bombs—”</p><p><br/> “Oh, you’re no fun, Sam.”  Rowena was now close enough to touch him; Sam froze with his fingertips touching the butt of his gun.  She could throw any number of magic spells at him before he had a chance to draw: How had he allowed himself to get in this position?  Had she already done something to him?  As his mind raced through possibilities, she reached out and touched his arm, lightly squeezing his triceps.  “You know, we’re both likely to die in the next twenty-four hours.  Only one of us will stay that way, of course; neither, if you have another one of your miraculous Winchester resurrections.”  She shrugged, slowly running her hand down his arm, feeling every scar and muscle fiber.  “Still, dying makes for a rotten day.  So why not blow off a little steam while you still can?”</p><p><br/> Sam grimaced.  “Why on Earth would I want to have sex with you?”</p><p><br/> Rowena laughed.  “Because I know more tricks than you could possibly learn from Pornhub.  Because you hate me, but you find me attractive, and you &lt;desperately&gt; want to let out all of this fear and anger you’re feeling.  Because, Sam Winchester, I’m also terrified of Lucifer, and I want your giant Moose cock to make me forget all about him.”<br/> Her hand jumped from his arm to his thigh.  Sam jumped like she’d electrocuted him.  She spun on her heel and walked away from him, turning back with a coy smile.  <br/> “Offer’s on the table, love.  One night only.  I’ll be in my room, if you need me.  And if not…”  She pouted, shrugging her shoulders.  “I promise to be a good girl and not disturb your friends.  We’re all on the same side, after all.” </p><p><br/> Sam didn’t move for several seconds.  What just happened?  Had Rowena really propositioned him?  There was no way in Hell he was going to take her up on her offer.  Nope; he’d done the Bad Decisions thing with Ruby, and he wasn’t going down that road again.</p><p> <br/> “What’d I miss?” Garth mumbled, snapping awake.  He looked around the room.  “Where’s Rowena?”</p><p><br/> Sam still had one finger on his gun; he relaxed his arm.  There was no one around to shoot right now.  “She…Went to her room.  Said she needed a couple hours of sleep before we start working again.”</p><p><br/> “Smart woman,” Garth said, yawning.  </p><p><br/> &lt;You have no idea,&gt; Sam thought.</p><p><br/> “You want me to guard her door?” Garth said, getting to his feet.</p><p><br/> “Hmm?  Oh.  Uh, no, that’s okay.  You should get a few more hours in, yourself.  I’ll keep an eye on her.”</p><p><br/> Garth reached up to pat Sam’s shoulder; Sam could feel the ghost of Rowena’s fingers on his arm.  “You let me know if you need anything, buddy.  See you in the morning.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah.  ‘Night.”</p><p><br/> Sam stood in the empty room, looking at the mess of half-made demon bombs.  Then he remembered he had to guard Rowena’s door, in case she decided to cause trouble.  If there was one thing he knew about her for certain, it was that she couldn’t be trusted.  </p><p><br/> He wondered what sort of tricks she knew about that Pornhub didn’t.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash was happy to let Dean take the lead.  He continued to kiss her as they laid down, his hand moving from her hair to glide down her back, and over her ass.  He kissed down her chin and along her neck; at first, she thought he was going to bite her, but he continued to kiss her, sucking on her skin and teasing her with his tongue.  Her skin felt electric wherever he touched her, and she wanted him to touch her everywhere.  She wanted more of his skin against her; more tongue, more hands, more…Friction.  She needed him—she needed things she couldn’t have, but that wouldn’t stop her from taking all she could get.  She dug her nails into his arm, trying to pull him closer.  He sucked on her neck until the blood vessels burst, and damn was that good.  She wanted to kiss him back, to suck on his neck the same way; she wanted to bite him until he bled, she wanted to tear him open and make him scream, and rip him apart—</p><p><br/> No, that wasn’t right.  That was what a lifetime of sexual repression did, she supposed.  But she did want to suck on his neck.  Maybe bite him.  Just a little.  </p><p><br/> She pushed him away and he looked concerned, like he might have done something she didn’t like.  Before he could say a word, she was smashing her lips against his.  She bit his lower lip, running her tongue across it and tasting copper.  Her kisses trailed down to his neck, gentle at first, then with increasing pressure.  Dean was breathing hard, and she could feel his pulse quicken as she licked over his carotid artery.  Again, the urge rose to bite hard and draw blood: She imagined the thick spray that would come from ripping an artery; the feel of hot blood on her face; the rich, coppery taste on her tongue—</p><p><br/> No.  She had to be gentle; this was Dean, not some monster she had to eviscerate.  </p><p><br/> Still, she couldn’t help focusing on his pulse point for one more moment, giving him soft, open-mouthed kisses and swirling her tongue around.  As she moved away from the artery, kissing turned to sucking; Dean moaned and his hands went to her hips, moving her so that she was on top of him, straddling him.  As she continued to lick and suck her way across his neck, he squeezed her ass and pressed her hips into his, grinding his erection against her.  He rubbed against her pelvic bone, which was a little unpleasant; her brain took that moment to remind her that Dean had once tried to assault her while drugged on Leviathan serum.  She stopped licking his neck, freezing in place as the memory played over again.  </p><p><br/> Dean felt her freeze.  “Ash?  What’s wrong, baby?”  She was looking at him, but her eyes were unfocused.  “Is the grinding too much?”</p><p><br/> Ash’s eyes were glazed over, remembering how scared she’d been that she wasn’t going to be able to stop him and everything—the Prophecy, the end of the world, destroying Lucifer—would be ruined, and it was all her fault for trying to get a leg up on the Leviathans.  She shook her head, and the movement traveled down the rest of her body like a wet dog shaking off.  </p><p><br/> “No.  It’s fine, I just…Got stuck in my head for a second.  I’m fine.”  She gave him a fake smile and bent her head to suck on his neck.</p><p><br/> Dean stopped her.  “Maybe we should stick to kissing.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked hurt.  “But—no, we can do whatever you want; I just can’t touch you…But you can grind on me as long as we’re wearing clothes.  That’s not against the Rules.”</p><p> She wriggled her hips, feeling the bulge of his dick through thin fabric.  She wanted to grab him; she wanted to take him down her throat like the porn he watched; she wanted him inside her, any and every way that was possible.  But all she could do was grind against him.  She nipped at his lower lip, feeling like she was disappointing him.  She couldn’t have sex with him, give him a blowjob, or even a handjob.  She was essentially just a cock-tease at this point, and not a very good one.  “I’m sorry—I’m sorry I can’t…”</p><p><br/> “Ash.  It’s okay.”  He put his hands on her hips to stop her from moving, and kissed her again.  “Look, why don’t you give me five minutes in the bathroom, and we can cuddle like we normally do, alright?”</p><p><br/> He started to push her off of him.</p><p><br/>“Wait!  What if...What if I gave you five minutes right here?  I know I can’t…Jerk you off, but I can keep kissing you.  It’s like…3-D porn.  Right?”  </p><p><br/> Dean looked at her without blinking.  His head tilted slowly to the side.  “You want to make out with me while I jerk off?”</p><p><br/> She sat up straighter, her hands on his chest.  “Is that weird?  You’re making it sound like it’s weird.  I’m sorry; I just thought it might be nicer than being alone in the bathroom—”</p><p><br/> “It’s, uh…I mean, it’s kinda different, but it’s not &lt;weird.&gt;  You want to know about weird sex stuff, google ‘Hentai.’  Can I make a request?”</p><p><br/> “If it involves tentacles—”</p><p><br/> Dean laughed.  “No, no tentacles.  Though I’m sure you could grow them if you wanted.  I just want you naked.”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Okay.”  Ash dismounted reluctantly and took off her shirt and pajama bottoms.  “Can you take your shirt off, too?”</p><p><br/> As soon as his shirt hit the floor, she pounced.  Ash straddled him again and nipped at his collarbone, nibbling and sucking from one end of his chest to the other while her hands explored his bare chest.  She could feel the slight change in texture where his tattoo was, and the little dips and bumps from every little scar.  Dean’s hips twitched as she brushed her fingers over his nipples, and he began to grind against her again.  She adjusted her position so that he wasn’t hitting bone anymore, and now it felt &lt;really good&gt;.  Damn—too bad &lt;she&gt; wasn’t allowed to get off.  She growled and nipped at his shoulder, fingers still exploring his chest.  His nipples hardened as she rubbed them, and his hips bucked harder; he kept his hands on her ass, rubbing her against him in rhythm.  As she licked her way back up his neck, he was breathing hard, making almost imperceptible whimpering noises that did Things to her she didn’t quite understand.  But she knew she wanted him to keep making those sounds.  </p><p><br/> The Internet had told her that nipples were important; very erogenous.  Ash didn’t have any personal experience in that department, but they certainly seemed to work for Dean.  She thought about what else the Internet had told her, and shifted position, scooting down slightly so that her hips were on his thighs and her head was even with his chest.  She licked over one nipple and he sucked in his breath sharply; she did it again, leaving her tongue on him for a moment longer.  </p><p><br/> “Yes—Ash—”</p><p><br/> Encouraged, she swirled her tongue around the tender point, feeling it harden even more.  She closed her lips around it and sucked, gently at first, then harder, lapping her tongue over him at the same time.  </p><p><br/> “Yeah—fuck—”</p><p><br/> He bucked his hips into her, but now she was at the wrong angle.  He tapped her hip, motioning that she should get off of him; she slid to one side, never losing contact with her tongue.</p><p><br/> Dean shoved his pants down to mid-thigh and wrapped his fist around his cock.  He hadn’t done anything like this since, what—high school?  8th grade, maybe?  It was still hot: Who would’ve thought someone like Ash, with zero experience, would attack him with such intensity?  She was going at his nipples (and neck, and lips) with the same ferocity he’d seen when she took out Leviathans.  Being slightly afraid that she might actually try to kill him only made it hotter.  </p><p><br/>Ash moved to his other nipple, giving it a teasing lick before sucking hard.  Her teeth scraped against his skin and his back arched; again, she fought back the urge to bite him.  Instead, she began to lick down his chest to his ribs, nibbling on each of them and sucking on the taut skin that covered them.  Then she made her way back up his chest, rolling one nipple between her fingers while she licked the other.  </p><p><br/> The corners of the Internet in which she learned about nipples tended to have a lot of ads for things like vibrating cock rings and other sorts of things that vibrated.  Ash didn’t have any toys she could use on Dean, but she did have supernatural mojo.  She slid her free hand down his stomach, stopping just above his pubic hair.  She didn’t want to get in the way of his jerking-off hand, and she knew she wasn’t allowed to touch him.</p><p><br/> Ash focused on her power, and released a pulse of energy.  </p><p><br/> Dean felt her hand glide down his body and his dick twitched in anticipation: Evidently, it had not gotten the memo about No Touching.  He felt a tingle where her fingers touched his skin, sort of like when a foot falls asleep, and then…Holy shit.  Vibration traveled up his cock and through his balls, buzzing behind them to hit his prostate.  His whole body lit up, fizzing from head to toe, but mostly cock to balls.  His hips bucked like he’d been electrocuted and he bit back a shout of surprise and pleasure, turning it into a rather undignified moan.  </p><p><br/> “Shit!  What was that?!”</p><p><br/> Ash removed her tongue from his nipple, looking up at him guiltily.  “I wanted to try something.  Did I hurt you?”</p><p><br/> “No!  Fuck, that was awesome!  Can you do it again?”</p><p><br/> She smiled, sucking at his lower lip, and gave him another pulse of energy.  Again, his hips bucked and he moaned into her mouth.  Ash could have listened to that sound for the rest of eternity; she wanted him so bad, she was shaking.  She sucked on his tongue, then bit his lip, pressing her chest against his.  She felt Dean’s hand on her breast, and the urge to attack and actually injure him rose up stronger than ever.  She growled, pushing the feeling to the back of her mind, and compensated by biting his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.  She sent another pulse of energy toward his cock, and again he made that delicious sound.  </p><p><br/> “Ah—shit, I’m gonna come!  Do it again!”  </p><p><br/> Ash let out another burst of power, stronger than before.  She felt his body stiffen, and his hand stilled as ropes of cum shot onto his stomach and her hand.  It had a gooey texture that she hadn’t been expecting.  Curious, she licked the back of her hand clean: Definitely snot-like in consistency, but otherwise not bad.  </p><p><br/> Dean used his shirt to clean himself up, then tossed it on the floor.  He looked more relaxed than Ash had ever seen him.  </p><p><br/> “You know,” he said, motioning for her to snuggle up to him, “for a virgin with no experience whatsoever, you’re not half bad.”</p><p><br/> “Well, I am half-demon,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.  “To be honest, though, I just do what the Internet tells me.”</p><p><br/> “The Internet didn’t tell you about that—that thing you did.”</p><p><br/> Ash smiled.  “You can thank the half-demon bit for that.”  She could hear his heart pounding in his chest, and the urge to tear into him like a wild animal and rip it out was still there.  She sat up and located her clothes, taking her time to put them back on.  “It wasn’t too weird, then?  I didn’t do anything wrong, or—”</p><p><br/> “No.  God, no.  That was effing hot.  Kinda felt like you wanted to eat me.”</p><p><br/> She laughed, snuggling into him again and nipping his shoulder.  “Hmm.  Maybe a little.”</p><p><br/> Dean rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around her.  “You better not!  It’s against the Rules.  You eat me, I’m telling Crowley.”  He kissed her, long and slow, still riding his post-orgasm high.  Ash could feel how at peace he was, and the feeling allowed her to relax a little.  The mixture of lust and blood-lust surging through her veins dissipated, and she was left with her own kind of peace.  In the back of her mind, there was a voice saying, &lt;this is the end,&gt; but she chose to ignore it.  The end could wait a little bit longer.</p><p><br/> “That…Wasn’t too weird for &lt;you,&gt; was it?” Dean asked, realizing it was her first vaguely sexual encounter.</p><p><br/> “Hmm?  No; I like making you feel good.  And now I have something decent to dream about when I die.”</p><p><br/> “…What?”</p><p><br/> “Cas says that in the Empty, you dream about your life.”  She nuzzled his chest with her nose.  “Mmm.  I hope I dream about this a lot.”</p><p> </p><p><br/> <br/> Castiel sat in a diner outside of Washington, DC, surrounded by some of the best angels he knew.  Most of them were absolute pricks, sure; but they did their jobs, and did them well.  Despite the weather, a massive upsurge in wildlife attacks, food shortages, insect-borne diseases, and a few boils and rashes, humanity seemed to be falling back into place.  The President of the United States had been the toughest nut to crack, and in the end the angels had done a few things they swore they’d Never Do to Humans, but they’d more or less mended things back to the way they should be.  More than one world leader would wake up in the morning with a blinding headache and a blank space where the last 12 hours should have been in their memories, but all the proper treaties had been signed, and all the proper precautions taken to ensure that no big, scary red buttons were pressed.  </p><p><br/> “That wasn’t so bad,” Castiel said, staring into coffee that was at least 50% sugar at this point.  He tore open another packet and stirred it in.  </p><p><br/> Naomi narrowed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.  “Not so bad?!  That jumpy little man in North Korea tried to put Jorael’s head on a pike!”</p><p><br/> Cas winced and shrugged it off.  “He looks fine now.”</p><p><br/> Naomi sighed that special sigh she reserved for her most challenging angel.  “Yes.  But this whole diversion, it’s taken valuable time away from us.  We should be marching on the gates of Hell as we speak, and yet we’re here, recuperating lost grace that’s been wasted on the most vile of humanity—politicians.”</p><p><br/> He smiled.  “I have to agree with you on that.”  Castiel took a sip of coffee and made a face—the molecules were still too bitter.  “Never thought I’d say &lt;that&gt;.”  He looked around the diner at the other angels: Only a few were still healing from wounds (and he was going to ask some very specific questions about how the US government got its hands on an angel blade once this whole thing was over), but everyone’s grace was depleted after manipulating politicians, making some things happen that needed to happen, and more importantly making sure that some things that &lt;had&gt; happened, hadn’t.  </p><p><br/> Lucifer must have known they’d do this: He was an evil, conniving little bastard, but he wasn’t stupid.  So why go to all the trouble of building up the world to the edge of nuclear war, if he knew he’d be thwarted?  The angels had expected some sort of resistance in the form of demons, but they hadn’t encountered any more than usual (many demons were in politics; it was one of the most popular jobs, Earth-side, after working crossroads deals).  Sure, the devil liked to mess with people for fun; but there was still something Castiel was missing.  There was something important happening, he just didn’t know what—</p><p><br/> “A diversion,” he said, starting Naomi out of her own thoughts.</p><p><br/> “What?”</p><p><br/> “You called it a diversion.”</p><p><br/> She sighed again.  “Yes, Castiel.  It’s a word that means—”</p><p><br/> “Straying from a course,” he snapped.  “That’s how you meant it, at least.  But what if it’s more?”</p><p><br/> “An attack or feint that draws the attention and force of an enemy from the point of the principal operation,” Naomi answered, then gasped.  “You think he set all of this up—went to all the world leaders and stirred up all this trouble—just to—to—”</p><p><br/> “Create a diversion?”  Castiel stood up suddenly, his chair screeching back across the tile floor.  “What’s the one thing he still wants?  The one thing we’re counting on to win this?”</p><p><br/> Naomi stood up more gracefully.  “The hybrid.”</p><p><br/> Their movement drew the attention of a few other angels, who gathered closer.</p><p> <br/> “But she is safe with the Winchesters,” Anael said, more of a question than a statement.</p><p><br/> Naomi snorted in derision.  “Please.  They can’t even keep themselves safe.  That’s why Castiel has been assigned to them.”</p><p><br/> “But I’m not with them now,” Cas said, already stretching his wings to take off.  “I’ve been &lt;diverted&gt;.”</p><p><br/> Jorael squared his shoulders.  “I should go with you—”</p><p><br/> “No,” Naomi said.  “Castiel will go alone.  The rest of us must recover our grace while we still can.  Even at our strongest, we barely stand a chance against him; weakened, he will crush us like ants.”</p><p><br/> Castiel flapped his wings, and vanished.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Ash woke up to a woman’s scream.  She sat up, and Dean bolted upright next to her.  </p><p><br/> “Rowena,” he sighed.  He threw on jeans and a shirt—he wasn’t fighting a witch in his pajama pants if he could help it—and grabbed the gun with the witch-killing bullets.</p><p> “Stay here,” he ordered.</p><p><br/> “I can fight.”</p><p><br/> “Your fight’s with Lucifer.  You leave Rowena to me and Sam.”  He stood at the door, listening: There was no one in the hall.  “Lock the door behind me,” he said, and left.</p><p><br/> Ash locked the door and shifted into a mouse, looking out through the gap between door and floor.  She saw Dean’s feet disappear down the hall; then other doors began to open and close, and more feet passed by her.  She could smell Charlie and Garth; the other hunters weren’t familiar enough for her to pick out by smell.  There was also a hint of sulfur, though it could have been residual scent left over from someone’s last hunt.  </p><p><br/> “Rowena!” Dean bellowed in the distance.  There was a lot of other shouting, but it all melded together; the sounds faded away, then grew closer.  Doors were pounded on as every hunter was woken; rushed explanations were handed out like a game of Telephone.</p><p><br/> “Was it the witch?”</p><p><br/> “Someone’s dead!  One of the boys—Danielle’s cousin, she found him--”</p><p><br/> “The witch killed Jonathan!”</p><p><br/> “Jonathan’s dead.  We haven’t found any hex bags, and someone’s been watching Rowena all night, but we can’t rule out—”</p><p><br/> “Check your room for hex bags!”</p><p><br/> “We don’t know that it was Rowena—”</p><p><br/> “Who else would want to kill a hunter?”</p><p><br/> “What if something else got in?”</p><p><br/> “Let me see him; I might be able to tell—”</p><p><br/> “Have you seen the body?”</p><p><br/> “Where’s Rowena?”</p><p><br/> “In her room,” Sam said.</p><p><br/> “You’re not watching her?!”</p><p><br/> Sam’s eyes narrowed.  “I followed the screams.  But look, if she is behind this—"</p><p><br/> “Looks like a succubus to me,” Eileen said.</p><p><br/> The hall went quiet as everyone turned their attention to Eileen.</p><p><br/> “Succubus?!”</p><p><br/> “How’d it get in here?”</p><p><br/> “Can’t be!  This place is warded, ain’t it?”</p><p><br/> “There’s a devil’s trap above the door, but it’s possible to avoid it.”  That was Sam’s voice.  “And do we know for certain that a devil’s trap will work on a succubus?  They’re not a true demon.”</p><p><br/> “There are different breeds,” Eileen said.  “Some don’t respond to silver.  Some only respond to silver.”</p><p><br/> “Anybody see who was in here with him?”</p><p><br/> “Well, Danielle found him.  Might be her.”</p><p><br/> “He’s my cousin!” Danielle snapped.  “He was dead when I found him!  I’m not a succubus, if that’s what killed him.  Test me.”  There was a bit of a scuffle, and Ash squeezed under the door frame to get a better view.  A silver knife was offered, then an angel blade, then holy water.  “See?  It’s not me.”</p><p><br/> “Alright, let’s do this rationally,” Sam said as more arguing erupted.  “We each get tested.  One at a time.”</p><p><br/> “Hold on, some people are missing.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, where’s Dean?  And the girls aren’t here,” a new voice said.</p><p><br/> “Bill and Gavin haven’t come out,” someone else noted.</p><p><br/> “I’ll go get—”</p><p><br/> “No, we stay together!”</p><p><br/> “But it could be going after them as we speak!”</p><p><br/> “Dammit.  Okay, we split up in groups.  No one on their own.  Everyone gets tested.  Does everyone have silver on them?”</p><p><br/> There was a chorus of “yep’s” and “nope’s.”  And angel blades were in short supply.</p><p><br/> “Dean’s got one in his room,” Sam said, moving toward the door.  He tried the doorknob, but it was locked.  “Dean?  You in there?  Ash?”  </p><p><br/>Ash shifted to human but didn’t unlock the door.  What if Sam was the succubus?  </p><p><br/>“Dean told me to lock the door.”</p><p><br/>“Where is he?” </p><p><br/>“He ran out after he heard someone scream.  You haven’t seen him?” </p><p><br/>“No.  Damn it.  Ah…Okay.  Do you see his angel blade?”</p><p><br/>Ash looked around at the various piles of weaponry.  A familiar hilt stuck out of a duffel.  “I’ll slide it under the door,” she said. </p><p><br/> “See if he has any silver, too.”</p><p><br/> She flipped the duffel upside-down and let the weapons clatter onto the floor.  She felt around until one of them burned her hand, and slid that one through the door, too.</p><p><br/> “Thanks.  Stay there.”</p><p><br/> Ash turned back into a mouse and took up her post under the door again.</p><p><br/> As Sam turned back to the group with Dean’s weapons, Jody reached for the girl Sarah’s arm to test her.  Sarah’s eyes widened, and in the time it took to blink, she’d thrown Jody across the hall.  Jody’s head hit the concrete with a solid ‘thunk’ and she collapsed to the floor.  Sam ran to help her while Garth and the other hunters turned on Sarah.  She flung her hands out and they were all knocked off their feet; by the time they’d scrambled back up with their weapons drawn, she was gone.</p><p><br/> Sam took charge, dividing everyone into groups and directing them to different parts of the bunker.  “Remember, you have to stab it through the heart and then cut off its head!” he called to the retreating teams.  He led Garth and Eileen to check on the other hunters that hadn’t been seen yet.</p><p> <br/> Bill and Gavin had woken up but remained in their rooms, and met Sam with a pair of silver daggers and a revolver loaded with silver bullets.  They established that everyone was human, and Sam had them lock themselves back in the room to reduce the number of people running around.  Next, he checked on Alex and Claire, who’d found a room with bunk beds, and realized both girls had fallen asleep with ear buds and couldn’t hear anything over their music.  Again, he directed them to lock themselves in.</p><p><br/> They ran into Dean in the library, where he was talking to Castiel.</p><p> <br/> “We need to get everyone out of here,” Castiel was saying.  “I believe that Lucifer is planning an attack—oh, hello, Sam.”</p><p><br/> “Cas!  You’re back already?”</p><p><br/> The angel tilted his head.  “Why are you running?”</p><p><br/> “It’s a succubus,” Garth said, panting for air.  “It killed Jonathan.”</p><p><br/> Castiel’s expression darkened.  “Then the attack has already begun.  We must leave, now.”  He reached for Dean’s arm.  “Get Ash.  It is of utmost importance that we protect her at all costs.  If Lucifer gets his hands on her, we will lose this war.”</p><p><br/> “I’ll come with you,” Sam said.  “Cas, will you stay with Garth and Eileen?”</p><p><br/> “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Dean pounded on his bedroom door.  “Change of plans, Ash.  Cas is here, he says we gotta go.  Now.”</p><p><br/> Ash sniffed from the other side of the door.  It certainly smelled like Dean.  Could a succubus change its scent?  She shifted to human, and looked around for more silver.  She managed to find a silver switchblade, testing its authenticity by cutting across her palm.  </p><p><br/> “Ash, come on—”</p><p><br/> She slid the knife under the door.  “Test first,” she said, then shrunk down to a mouse so she could watch him.  </p><p> Dean picked up the weapon gingerly and brought the blade to the inside of his arm.  </p><p><br/> Ash’s head went fuzzy and her vision blurred.  She felt dizzy, and her heart raced like she’d just sprinted across the room.  What the hell?  She looked up at Dean and saw blood on his arm from where he’d cut himself.  Not a succubus, she thought, but it was hard to make sense of her thoughts right now.  She scurried out from under the door and shifted into a dog, pitching to the side as she lost her balance.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?  You okay?”  Dean crouched down and reached out to steady her.  She tried to focus on his face, but it was blurry, and sort of gray…With her head spinning, his face contorted, and for a moment his skin was sunken into his skull, oozing with blood and pus like a rotting corpse, and his eyes glowed red.  But then her head cleared, as did her vision, and he looked perfectly normal.  &lt;What was that?&gt;</p><p><br/> “Come on; we have to go.”  He pocketed the switchblade and strode toward the war room.  </p><p><br/> &lt;What just happened?&gt;</p><p><br/> “Keep up, kid.”</p><p><br/> The fuzzy feeling returned, and now there was a new feeling, a pressing desire to obey Dean.  She ran forward and smacked into a wall instead of turning, backing up and shaking her head.  Dean turned and crossed back to her, holding her head up to look in her eyes.  “You alright?  How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked, holding three fingers out.</p><p><br/> Ash tried to focus on the fingers, eventually barking four times.  Dean repeated the game, and again she got the wrong number.</p><p><br/> “Something’s wrong.  I’m gonna carry you, alright?”</p><p><br/> Her head drooped to the side, the back of her neck tingling and her skull feeling like it was made of cotton balls.  Dean scooped her up easily and started for the exit again.</p><p> <br/> “Hey!  What the hell?!”</p><p><br/> Ash’s head snapped up at the sound of Dean’s voice.  It was coming from across the room.  Wait—if that was Dean, who was holding her?  Or if Dean was holding her, then who was &lt;that&gt;?  Shit.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Even though Sam had just seen Dean cut himself with the silver knife &lt;and&gt; an angel blade, he still found himself second-guessing things when the second Dean appeared in the war room holding Ash.  He stepped away from his brother, pulling both knives just to be safe, and began stepping sideways around the room.</p><p><br/> Ash wriggled in her Dean’s grip, trying to jump down, but he held on tight.  “Don’t,” he warned.  “It’s him—he’s the succubus.  If you let him get close to you, he’ll use his power on you and make you think he’s the real one.”</p><p><br/> Somewhere in the back of her mind, that sounded like an excellent reason not to be close to &lt;either&gt; Dean at the moment, but the fuzzy-headed feeling was getting stronger, and making it increasingly difficult to move.  </p><p><br/> “Ash, get down,” Sam ordered, and in a burst of level-headedness, Ash shifted into a mouse, dropping through Dean’s arms and shooting off across the floor, where she once again shifted into a dog.  She stood opposite Sam, so the four of them were approximately equal distances apart from each other.  </p><p><br/> “Ash!” her Dean protested, stepping toward her.</p><p><br/> The fuzzy feeling disappeared for a moment, and she focused her attention on seeing souls.  Sam’s was visible, as was that of the Dean she hadn’t been with.  Looking at the Dean that had carried her, she could see the rotting flesh again, and it was obvious he was the succubus—</p><p><br/> She fell onto her side as the strange feeling came back.  Her vision clouded, and when it cleared she could only see the humans’ physical forms.  Wait, but…She’d just seen the succubus.  Why couldn’t she remember who it was?  It was definitely Dean—&lt;a&gt; Dean.  Or Sam.  It was someone in this room, at least.  Wasn’t it?  </p><p><br/> Ash growled in frustration.  She wondered if she could make it to the door on her own.  But was she really supposed to go outside?  Dean had told her they had to leave.  Was that succubus-Dean telling her that, or real Dean?  She knew the damn things preyed on people through sex, but apparently they could also manipulate others in non-sexual ways.  Whoever it was, it was doing a damn good job of it.  </p><p><br/> If she left, it might chase after her.  But it also might stay behind and eat everyone in the bunker.  She should fight it, but she couldn’t even break through its magic to figure out who it was.  &lt;If it goes after Dean, I’ll chase it back to Hell and eat its freaking heart&gt;, she thought, feeling fiercely protective.</p><p><br/> The Dean that had carried her suddenly dropped to his knees and clutched at his head.  Ash could see the succubus’s true face again, all putrid and rotting.  It screeched, and Sam and (the real) Dean covered their ears.  &lt;It responds to emotion like demons?&gt; Ash wondered, fascinated by the sudden change in the thing’s disposition.  If so, she just needed to feel really strongly about things until one of the hunters could kill it.  </p><p><br/> Sam moved first, darting toward the fake Dean.  Before he could reach it, the succubus recovered and leapt to its feet, catching Sam off-guard and throwing him against a wall.  Ash ran after it but it spun to face her, and her paws tangled around each other as the fuzzy feeling returned to her head.   The room spun, and she could no longer see or remember which Dean was real.  She staggered back and tried to focus on the three men in the room: Two should be human, she told herself.  There were two Deans: One of them had to be fake.  She backed away from both of them, growling.  </p><p><br/> And, because things were going so well already, Castiel appeared behind one of the Deans.  </p><p><br/> “Dean!  I can’t find—Oh.”  He stopped in his tracks, looking from one Dean to the other.  </p><p><br/> Ash turned her full attention on the angel, and realized she couldn’t see his grace at all.  Even with the fuzzy cloud over her mind, she could tell, without a doubt, that the creature in front of her was not an angel.  She shifted to her human form, very aware of the fact that she was naked.</p><p><br/> “It’s not Cas!  It’s another suc—”</p><p><br/> The power hit her from multiple directions, as fake Cas and fake Dean lashed out at her with demonic energy.  She was propelled up and back, then slammed into the floor.  She ducked her head to avoid cracking her skull on the hard tile.</p><p> <br/> One of the Deans ran toward her; Sam ran toward the other one, trying to get between him and the imposter Cas.  Ash rolled to the side and kicked out, trying to trip her attacker, but he dodged easily and reached down to grab her ankle.  The succubus was much stronger than Dean, and it wasn’t about to let go of her, so she shifted to get away.  She changed into a mamba, a fast and very poisonous snake—not that the venom would affect the succubus, but at least she was quick.  Her foot vanished, slipping out of his grip, and she spun to bite his hand, slithering out of his way as he hissed in pain.  By the nasty howl he let out, her bite still hurt even if it couldn’t kill him.  </p><p><br/> Ash slithered under a desk and groaned inwardly as the fuzzy cloud descended on her brain once more.  She blinked reptilian eyes and tried to focus on the scene in front of her: Dean and Sam were back to back, Sam pointed towards fake Dean and Dean pointed toward fake Cas…Except there was no more Cas.  In his place, there was a fake Ash.  She reached out for him, and he seemed caught in a daze like the real Ash had been, unable to resist.  </p><p><br/> Ash bolted forward, shifting into a hellhound, but she’d barely managed to get her feet settled beneath her when she felt the succubus’s power pull her back.  She felt fake Dean’s arms wrap around her chest and he tackled her to the floor, pinning her.  She turned her head to snap at him and felt the cloud return; he adjusted his stance so that one knee was digging into her ribs and both hands were at her throat, keeping her teeth at bay.  </p><p><br/> “Take it easy, Ash.  You couldn’t do much to a succubus like this, but you could kill a human.”</p><p><br/> She snarled at him, but the fuzzy cloud was now full of doubt.  What if she accidentally attacked the wrong Dean?  What if she killed the real one?  &lt;Protect Dean&gt;, she thought, the feeling so strong it almost overrode the cloud.  &lt;Protect Dean, Sam, Crowley, Cas&gt;.  </p><p><br/> The succubus screeched and slammed her head against the floor; when the feeling didn’t go away, it scrambled away from her and clawed at its head, hissing.  Ash caught her breath and rolled to her paws; she ducked out of Sam’s way as he hurdled toward the monster, silver knife in his fist.  The thing glanced up at him just before he struck, and for a moment it tried to change its face—for a second it looked a little like Jess—and then the knife was in its heart, and it screamed, and Sam was pulling the blade back to hack at its neck.  Ash turned her attention to the other one, the one that looked like her, and panicked to see it was luring Dean away.  </p><p><br/> &lt;Leave him alone, you bitch!&gt; She snarled, charging at her look-alike.  </p><p><br/> The demoness smiled serenely and held one hand out, freezing Ash in her tracks.  “Your boy toy looks delicious,” she taunted.  “You won’t mind if I have a taste?”  She tugged on the front of his shirt and brought him in for a sloppy kiss.  Dean twitched, like he was trying to struggle out of her grip, but she had too much power over him.  <br/> Ash tried to push back against the power holding her, but this thing was strong.  So she shifted instead, changing to human.  Her head spun from shifting so rapidly, and it took her a moment to find her footing.  </p><p><br/> “Dean!”</p><p><br/> Dean jerked back from the succubus, breaking the kiss, and turned to face Ash.  He blinked slowly, stupidly, like he had heard her but couldn’t quite see her.  </p><p><br/> &lt;Protect Dean&gt;, Ash thought ferociously.  &lt;Love Dean.&gt;</p><p><br/> Fake Ash growled and shrieked, releasing her grip on his shirt and letting down the wall of energy that was holding real Ash in place.  Ash fell forward, caught her balance, and ran toward the succubus, trying to get between it and Dean.  &lt;Protect&gt;, she thought, focusing as hard as she could.  But it was hard to focus on emotions and fight at the same time.  As she came upon the false Ash, she realized she didn’t have a means of killing it, and Dean was still too far under its spell.  She turned to see Sam getting to his feet, and someone else appeared behind him—someone she didn’t recognize.  </p><p><br/> “Mom?” Sam said, choking with emotion.</p><p><br/> Mary Winchester smiled and held her arms open.  “I’m here, Sam.  It’s me.”</p><p><br/> “Sam!” Ash shouted in warning, but he was already caught up in its magic.  Damn, how many of these things had snuck in under the guise of being hunters?</p><p><br/> Fake Ash took advantage of real Ash’s distraction, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her up against a support beam.  “Don’t worry,” fake Ash growled.  “He’ll have the most pleasurable death a man can have.”</p><p><br/> Ash snarled and let the panic of losing him take hold of her mind.  It was such an intense feeling, and feelings were exactly what she needed right now.  Fake Ash hissed, its face contorting in a horrible mass of wrinkles and gray flesh.  She kept her hand on Ash’s throat, but she was losing control of herself and the situation.  Like demons, succubi were never meant to feel.  </p><p><br/> “You won’t,” real Ash growled back at her, and shifted again.  </p><p><br/> The succubus was strong, but the hellhound was heavy, its neck much wider than Ash’s human form.  Momentum from her change sent her tipping over on top of fake Ash, and she tore at the thing’s face, trying to blind it.  It wailed and clawed back at the hellhound, but Ash maintained the feeling of &lt;Protect Dean&gt; and held her position.  She bit into the chest of—well, herself—snapping ribs and breaking the sternum.  She ripped the monster’s heart out, and grayish red blood sprayed across her fur.  Dean appeared above her—the real Dean—holding an angel blade.  Ash dropped the heart and he stabbed it just to be extra safe, then set about hacking at its neck.  When the head finally rolled away, the last of the monster’s façade faded away, no longer a clone of Ash but a wrinkly, fetid corpse of a monster.</p><p><br/> Ash turned her attention back to Sam, who was hugging his ‘mother.’  Before she could move toward him, there was a flutter of wings behind the fake mom and Castiel appeared, the real Castiel, and shoved a blade through her back into her heart.  Sam shouted in surprise and jumped back, and the spell faded from his brain as the succubus collapsed.  With a single swipe, Castiel removed its head from its body.  </p><p><br/> “Cas?” Sam asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.  Even though he’d killed one of them, it had still been a very confusing couple of minutes, and he wasn’t sure he could trust his own eyes yet.</p><p><br/> “I came as fast as I could,” the angel said.  “Are there any other survivors?”</p><p><br/> Sam held his own knife up defensively.  “How do I know you’re real?”</p><p><br/> Ash padded forward and shifted back to human, and now the vertigo from changing so many times was bad enough that she pitched forward immediately, catching herself in a crouch on the floor.  Waiting for the room to stop spinning, she mumbled, “He’s real.  I can see his grace.”</p><p><br/> Sam looked down at Ash, still suspicious, and blushed.  “And you’re…You’re real,” he said, though it was more of a question than a statement.  </p><p><br/> “If I was fake I think I’d conjure up some clothes,” Ash replied, managing to focus on Cas’s shoes.  </p><p><br/> “Ah.  I can help with that,” the angel said, snapping his fingers.  Ash found herself wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel.  Huh.  At least there was no overcoat, she thought.    <br/> “Nice of you to show up, Cas,” Dean said, wiping blood from the knife onto his jeans.  He took the blade and slid it across his forearm again, creating a small cut.  “Your turn, Sammy.”</p><p><br/> Sam took the knife and followed suit; then Cas did as well.  </p><p><br/> “We can’t test Ash like this,” Dean pointed out.</p><p><br/> “We don’t have to.  It’s her; I’d be able to tell if she was a succubus,” Castiel said.  He helped her to her feet and she swayed against him.  He passed her off to Dean, and she leaned against him gratefully.  “We need to search for other survivors, or other succubi.  Dean, don’t let her out of your sight.  If there are any left, they’ll be coming after her.”</p><p><br/> Ash fought back an unexpected wave of nausea as she watched Cas and Sam retreat.  </p><p><br/> “You okay?”</p><p><br/> “Gimmie a sec.”  She swallowed hard and tilted her head back slightly, trying to take deeper breaths.  “Okay.”</p><p><br/> They set off opposite from Sam and Cas, hoping to loop around and meet them in the hall.  The succubi behind them were starting to stink like rotten flesh, but there was a rotten smell in front of her as well.  Ash stopped in place, nearly falling over as Dean continued forward; he turned to steady her, grabbing her shoulder.</p><p><br/> “I can smell them,” she said.</p><p><br/> Dean frowned, tightening his grip on the knife in his free hand, and they continued.</p><p><br/> There were five hunters in the kitchen: Garth, Jody, Donna, Simon, and Olivia.  They were quiet and tense, sitting at the table with their weapons in front of them, and everyone stood at once when Dean and Ash entered.  </p><p><br/> Ash sniffed: One of them was a succubus.  She’d seen it for a second, but the haze had returned to her brain, and she couldn’t remember which one it was anymore.  She squeezed Dean’s arm, hoping he’d understand the warning.</p><p><br/> “Dean” Garth said, stepping forward with a silver blade.  “Welcome to the party.”</p><p><br/> Dean sheathed his own knife and took the one being offered to him, making a small cut on his already slashed up forearm.  He was starting to look like a cutter.  “You happy?  I’m me.”</p><p><br/> “What about her?” Danielle asked.</p><p><br/> “She’s a shifter, she can’t handle silver.”  Dean put an arm protectively in front of her.</p><p><br/> “So make her shift.  Succubus can only take on human form; you said she can do animals.”</p><p><br/> Ash groaned.  Between all the rapid shifting and the stupid succubus’s magic, it was a miracle her eyes hadn’t popped out of her head yet.  And now they wanted her to shift again, just to prove she was real?</p><p><br/> “Mouse,” Dean suggested.</p><p><br/> She looked surprised.  Why would he want a dinky little mouse?  She could be something a lot more powerful.  Then again, she wasn’t much use on her feet right now—it would be a lot easier for him to move her around if she could fit in his pocket.  She shifted, hopping onto the hand he offered her.</p><p><br/> “Okay,” Dean said, taking a step back and cupping his free hand over her, “Your turn.”</p><p><br/> “We already did that,” Donna protested, holding up her cut arm as proof.  </p><p><br/> He sighed heavily.  “Everyone show me where you were cut.”</p><p><br/> The five of them held up their arms.  </p><p><br/> “So we’re all good here, then.”  He held Ash up to make eye contact with her as he spoke.  “Everything’s good?”</p><p><br/> She shook her head, but the way his hand was curled around her, no one else could see the movement.  </p><p><br/> “Okay, great.  Awesome.”</p><p><br/> Ash hoped he was bluffing, and that he really had seen her shake her head.  Hell, she was so out of sorts at the moment she wasn’t sure she &lt;had&gt; shaken her head.  <br/> Dean sat down at the table and the others took their seats as well.  He put Ash on his shoulder and leaned back in his chair, silver knife back in his hand.  “So, you guys come up with a plan?”</p><p><br/> “Pretty much just stay together, and test everyone that comes in,” Donna said.  “We figure one succubus can’t overpower all of us at once; they normally hunt one person at a time, I don’t think they’re built for dealing with groups of people.”</p><p><br/> “I dunno, the two we just took out were pretty damn strong.”</p><p><br/> “Two?!  There was more than one?” Jody asked.</p><p><br/> “I think there’s more than two,” Dean replied.</p><p> <br/> “But they never hunt in packs,” Simon said.  “They’re solo hunters.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, and so are most of us.  But they’re workin’ together now, just like we are.  It’s the end of the world, if you hadn’t noticed.  Things are different.”</p><p><br/> “Well, shit.”</p><p><br/> Someone in this room was a nasty, rotting demoness, and Ash was going to figure out who it was if it killed her.  She tried to focus on her emotions again, but it was hard with the fuzzy cloud in the way.  What &lt;could&gt; she focus on?  </p><p><br/> Well, she was on Dean’s shoulder.  He was warm, and smelled nice, and—&lt;and I like it when he kisses me&gt;, she thought.</p><p><br/> Simon coughed, then really started hacking like he had something caught in his throat.  Across from him, Danielle startled and nearly fell out of her chair.  </p><p><br/> “You okay there?”</p><p><br/> Simon stood and went to get himself a glass of water.  “Sorry ‘bout that.  I’m not as young as I used to be, and the air in here’s so dry.”</p><p><br/> &lt;Right.  Dry air&gt;, Ash thought sarcastically.  &lt;I wonder&gt;…All the hunters had their knives in front of them on the table, either in a hand or resting on the wood.  Presumably, all the knives were silver, and the hunters would have all used them in previous hunts no doubt, so they’d know if it was a fake, or different, metal.  But if one of the hunters was a succubus, they wouldn’t have a silver knife: They’d have a knife that looked silver, but couldn’t hurt them.  And since it didn’t affect a human either way, the real hunters would have no way of knowing.  But Ash could feel the difference.  </p><p><br/> She leapt off of Dean’s shoulder, landing on the table and startling Donna.</p><p><br/> “Oh!  Right.  Thought you just had a real mouse jump off’ve you,” she said, recovering.  </p><p><br/> Dean swept his hand out to try to corral her.  “Ash, get back here.  There’s a lot of silver here you don’t want to be messing with.”</p><p><br/> She dodged around him and began a circuit of the table, running from knife to knife and just touching each one with a paw, nose, or tail, just enough skin to feel it burn.  The other hunters glanced down at her but continued to talk strategy, now wondering if they should comb the bunker as a group rather than wait for the others to come to them.  When Ash got to a knife that didn’t burn, she almost stopped in her tracks, but caught herself and ran onward, hoping the succubus wouldn’t catch on that she’d spotted the difference.  Then a &lt;second&gt; knife didn’t burn her, and &lt;oh shit, there’s two more?  This is not going to be fun&gt;.  She completed her lap of the table and hopped back onto Dean’s shoulder.</p><p><br/> “What the hell was that all about?” he asked.  “You just feel like playing ‘daredevil’ all of a sudden?”</p><p><br/> The fuzziness in her head grew until she could hardly remember where the bogus silver had been  &lt;Simon and Danielle, Simon and Danielle&gt;, she chanted to herself, determined not to forget.  Now, how to tell Dean discreetly?  </p><p><br/> “You guys leave me any beer?” Dean asked, pushing his chair back.  </p><p><br/> “One or two,” Jody said.  “Want me to grab you one?”  She was closest to the fridge.</p><p><br/> “Nah, I’ve got it.”  He started working his way around the table, and Ash realized he was giving her an opportunity to tell him.  She climbed over his collar so she was right up against his neck: Biting seemed to be the most obvious form of communication, and she was fairly hidden from view in her current position.  Squeaking would only alert the others that something was wrong.  </p><p><br/> He grabbed a beer and continued his way around the table; as soon as he was behind Simon, Ash nipped at the base of his neck.  Aside from the little spasm in the surrounding muscle, he made no sign he’d felt it.  As he stepped behind Danielle, she bit him again, and he grunted in surprise, playing off the sound by opening his beer with his belt buckle.  He slid back into his seat and listened to Simon’s latest idea.</p><p><br/> “We could split into two groups of three—you know, divide and conquer.  If we run into one of the sons-a-bitches, it’s still three to one.  An’ we can keep our phones on for communication.”</p><p><br/> “Well, it’d be risky, but it might be the best plan so far,” Dean said carefully.</p><p><br/> The others argued for a few more minutes before agreeing that Simon’s plan would have to do.  Sam and Castiel hadn’t made their way back to the kitchen, which could mean they were in trouble, and there were still several hunters that were either missing or hopefully still locked in their rooms—but a succubus was strong enough to bust through a door in a pinch.  </p><p><br/> “I’ll take Jody and Garth,” Donna offered.</p><p><br/> The corner of Danielle’s mouth curled up almost imperceptibly, but Ash was watching her and her counterpart closely.  </p><p><br/> “Right,” Dean said, getting to his feet.  “You guys head down through the main hallway, around past the dungeon—Garth knows where that is—and loop around through the library.  I’ll take Simon and Danielle through the war room, we’ll check out the garage, then meet you somewhere in between.”  Underneath the table, he had his phone out and was messaging Sam: ‘2 more.  Kitchen now, try to lead them to cars.’  If he wasn’t dealing with his own situation, he and Cas might be able to give them backup.  If they couldn’t help, then…Well, he’d handle it.  It was only mind control, right?  </p><p><br/> Dean slid the phone back into his pocket and stood abruptly, heading out of the kitchen before anyone else could tell him it was a bad idea.  Simon and Danielle followed him, holding their knives at the ready.  </p><p><br/> In the war room, Dean paused to see if he could hear anything.  The place was eerily quiet, aside from the occasional rumble of thunder from outside or a clatter of hailstones over a bit of exposed metal.  Cas and Sam spread out to either side of him, checking closets and other hiding spaces.  Dean was glad he had them with him again, instead of those other hunters—what were their names?  Huh.  He was drawing a blank, like there was a fuzzy spot in his head, but that was okay.  He had his brother and his best friend with him, and together they’d kick the asses of those friggin’ succubi.  </p><p><br/> “Nothing,” Sam reported.</p><p><br/> “Nothing,” Cas confirmed.</p><p><br/> “Alright, well let’s check the garage out just to be safe,” Dean huffed, starting up the stairs.  He brushed against Sam in passing and a shiver ran up his spine.  Ash’s whiskers tickled his neck and he had to resist the urge to swat at her like an insect as she touched his skin with her tiny little paws.  “Christ, that tickles!  Cut it out!” he snapped, though as he spoke he wondered if she was trying to tell him something.  Was the succubus nearby?  But she’d bit him last time, and she wasn’t biting him now.  She should really change back into a human—that would make things so much simpler.  But she was tired, wasn’t she?  Dean felt tired.  He wanted to crawl into Baby and fall asleep.  It was late at night, or early morning, maybe; no wonder he was so exhausted.</p><p><br/> The sound of hail was much louder in the garage, which was more exposed than the rest of the bunker.  They had to shout just to be heard over a sound like hundreds of people running across the roof in steel-toed boots.  Ash tried to focus on what the others were saying, but it was hard enough with this damn cloud over her senses.  She’d felt it coming on and had wanted to bite Dean to let him know, but she’d stopped, having forgotten why she was supposed to bite him.  <br/> Dean yawned.  “You guys check it out.  I’m just gonna…Sit down for a second,” he said, climbing into the back seat of the Impala.  </p><p><br/> “Dean?  Are you alright?” Castiel asked with his usual head tilt.  </p><p><br/> “’M fine.  Just…Just need a second.”</p><p><br/> “You can’t fall asleep.  What if the succubus is in here?”</p><p><br/> “It’s alright, Cas.  I’m sure you and Sammy can handle it.  ‘S just a nasty rotting demon bitch from Hell, you eat those for breakfast.”</p><p><br/> The angel cocked his head.  “I have never eaten a—”</p><p><br/> “Figure of speech, Cas.”</p><p><br/> “Ah.  Of course.”</p><p><br/> Dean scooted farther into the car and laid down across the seat, propping his head up on his arms.  Ash moved onto his chest, feeling concerned about the situation but not sure what she was concerned about.  Sam and Castiel were here: They would protect Dean if he wasn’t feeling well.  It was natural for him to be sleepy after staying up all night hunting.  Cas would let them know if something was wrong.  </p><p><br/> Sam wandered back over to the car and joined Cas, who was watching Dean quietly.  “He alright?”</p><p><br/> “I believe he is suffering from a combination of lack of sleep and too much alcohol,” Cas said.  “I can watch over him if you would like to keep hunting.”</p><p><br/> “No, we should stick together.  Let’s get him back to his room, at least.”  Sam tapped Dean’s foot with his own.  “Dean?  Wake up, jerk!  We gotta move!”</p><p><br/> Dean mumbled “Bitch” automatically and started to snore.</p><p><br/> Sam chuckled.  “Okay.  Can you blink us back to his room?”</p><p><br/> Cas gripped Dean’s ankle and Sam’s shoulder.  “Ash, you have to be touching me,” he instructed.  She ran down to touch his hand where he had a grip on Dean, and the world shifted.  A moment later, Dean was safely on his bed, and Cas released his grip.  </p><p><br/> Ash could smell sulfur: A succubus had been here.  She ran back up to Dean’s chest, still feeling wrong.  Cas and Sam stepped to the side, speaking quietly about how to proceed.  &lt;Okay, it’s time to think.  Think past the cloud.  What’s wrong?  We were in the kitchen.  There were two people who were succubi.  We went with them into the war room.  Then we went through the war room with Sam and Cas, and into the garage, then Cas ported us here&gt;.  There was something off about that, but she couldn’t place what it was.  &lt;Okay.  Now we’re here, and a succubus was here very recently.  They could still be here, in the bathroom or the closet.  Why haven’t they checked for that?  That should be the first thing they do.  Maybe Cas can just sense if there’s anyone else?&gt;</p><p><br/> She couldn’t see his grace or Sam’s soul, but that was just part of the demoness messing with her.  &lt;You can see&gt;—her brain started to tell her something, but the magic cut it off.  &lt;Okay, you’re really starting to piss me off now&gt;.  As her anger rose, her mind became clearer.  &lt;Castiel didn’t use his wings to move us&gt;.  She hadn’t heard the usual flutter of angel wings, and that was…Well, eventually she’d figure out why that was bad.  &lt;I can see Dean’s soul&gt;.  That felt important, too.  She nipped at Dean’s neck, trying to wake him up, but he was out cold.  &lt;Dean is a light sleeper; it’s how he’s survived as a hunter.  What the Hell?&gt;  She bit him again, harder; he grumbled something in his sleep and rolled onto his side.  </p><p><br/> “You alright, Ash?” Sam asked, walking back to sit on the edge of the bed.  “Why don’t you hang with me for a while, so you don’t get smooshed?”  He held his hand out to her, and she started to walk toward him.</p><p><br/> &lt;I can see Dean’s soul, but not Sam’s.  I can see Dean’s soul but not Sam’s.  I can’t see Sam’s soul or Castiel’s grace…&gt;</p><p><br/> “Ash,” Sam said sternly, when the mouse froze in front of his hand.  He reached out to grab her.  </p><p><br/> &lt;Fight!&gt; Ash’s brain instructed, and she darted out from under his hand.  She zipped across Dean’s sleeping form and shifted as she leapt toward Sam’s chest, hitting him with the momentum of a 150-pound hellhound.  Unfortunately for her, her body wasn’t as on board with the idea of shifting again as her brain had been, and after striking him back off the bed, all of her muscles seized up at once and she collapsed to the floor.  Her vision dimmed as the false Sam and Castiel smirked above her.</p><p><br/> “Nice try, Nephilim.  But I’m still gonna eat your boyfriend,” Sam winked.  </p><p><br/> Ash snarled.  The succubus flicked a hand over her, and she blacked out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Dean!”  It was Sam’s voice, and from the angry, worried tone it had to be the real Sam, not the succubus.  Ash could hear his heavy footsteps as he ran into the room, heard the door slam against the wall.  Someone, or something, moved next to her.  She wanted to open her eyes, but that would be…Difficult.  Something snarled—definitely a succubus, judging by the wet, phlegmy nature of the sound—and lots of people were shouting.  </p><p><br/> “Cas!” Sam shouted.  “Little help!”</p><p> <br/> A large body slammed into her.  “Oof!” Sam coughed.  Then: “What the hell?”</p><p><br/> Ash’s eyes finally opened.  Sam’s knife had flown out of his hand and slid under the bed.  Fake Cas stalked toward him, changing to a woman Ash had only seen pictures of.  <br/> Sam struggled to his feet, still unsure of what he’d run into.  It felt like he’d hit a dog, which would make it a hellhound, but it hadn’t ripped his face off yet.  “Don’t you dare,” he growled at the fake Jess.  “I’ll fucking kill you!”  He pulled a gun out of his pocket and held it up to the monster’s face, clicking the safety off.  The demoness smiled and waved her hand to the side, sending the gun flying out of his grip.  </p><p><br/> Dean screamed.  Ash snapped her head up to look at him, and saw the other succubus, the one that had been Sam before, straddling him.  Only now, it wasn’t Sam, it was Ash, and she was naked.  Evidently when the thing was making out with him, its face had taken a cue from The Mummy and started deteriorating from the lips outward: It now looked like Ash’s face was rotting off, and she was oozing corpse juice onto Dean’s face.  Fake Ash collected itself and restored its face, but whatever power it had held over Dean had broken.  He struggled to get out from under it, and fake Ash had to hold him down with her superior demonic strength.  </p><p><br/> Ash staggered to her feet, muscles protesting, and made a running leap for the bed.  She missed, slamming into the side of the mattress, but the succubus turned to see what had made the bed shake.  Ash was lying so close to Sam’s silver knife; she pushed off with her back feet and grabbed the handle in her mouth, scooting back out from under the bed.  She clawed her way up the mattress and onto the bed, dropping the knife so she could bite her own (fake) neck.  Both Ashes pitched over the far side of the bed, and the succubus landed hard on her back on the floor, hellhound still latched firmly onto her jugular.  </p><p><br/> The form underneath her shifted.  “Ash,” Dean’s voice pleaded.  “You don’t want to kill me.  You can’t kill me.”</p><p><br/> She felt a rush of air behind her as Castiel entered the room, and heard him head away from her, toward the succubus Sam was fighting.  She could taste blood in her mouth and feel her teeth sinking through skin, but now she could see Dean’s face above her jaws, and hear him continue to plead with her.</p><p> <br/> “It’s a trick, Ash.  It’s using its demon mojo on you—I’m real!  You know I’m real!”</p><p><br/> For a moment, Ash stood frozen, poised over him.  He smelled like sulfur, but so did the whole damn room.  The succubi had been screwing with her brain all night; it was possible that they’d pulled another bait-and-switch somehow, and what she’d seen just a moment ago had really been in reverse.  She couldn’t see the other Dean from her position, and turning to look at him might give her current victim a chance to push her away.  </p><p><br/> “Ash?  Ash, are you holding it down?  I don’t want to hit you.”  Other Dean hopped off the bed, wearing only his boxers, holding the knife at the ready.  In her peripheral vision she could see him now, and his eyes were focused on his doppelganger, like he was looking right through her.</p><p><br/> “Don’t listen to him,” the Dean in her jaws gasped as she kept pressure on his throat.  And Ash realized, &lt;this one can see me, that one can’t.  It’s not a trick&gt;.  “You couldn’t really kill me, could you?  Your knight in shining flannel?”</p><p><br/> Ash snarled and bit down hard, bracing one paw on his head so she could rip out a chunk of flesh.  Nasty black blood spurted everywhere.</p><p><br/> “Ash, move!” Dean barked.  He swatted one hand in front of himself and she sprang back; he brought the silver knife down into the monster’s chest, and what had been healthy, fake-Dean flesh now rapidly rotted into a putrid, mangled corpse.  Ash spat the disgusting chunk of neck out.  Dean looked up and grimaced at the floating patch of blood and guts that made up Ash’s muzzle.  </p><p><br/> Cas appeared beside him.  “Are you alright?”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I’m…Just gonna need a really long shower.  Is Ash okay?”</p><p><br/> “She’s fine.”</p><p><br/> &lt;I don’t think I can change&gt;, Ash told the angel.  &lt;I seized up last time and the succubus knocked me out&gt;.</p><p><br/> He nodded.  “She can’t shift right now.”  He snapped his fingers and the blood disappeared from her face.  “The others are safe; they’ve assembled in the dungeon, and Rowena has created a series of spells and traps that will stop anything that comes at them.  But I’m fairly certain we’ve cleared the bunker.  Danielle and Gavin are dead; I believe that the succubi gained entry to the bunker disguised as Simon, Bill, Sarah, and Olivia, as their bodies are nowhere to be found.”</p><p><br/> Dean sat down on the bed and looked around for his clothes.  His shirt was shredded down the middle, and his pants were no longer jeans as much as they were a series of fibers under various stages of disintegration.  </p><p><br/> “Great,” he huffed, going to grab more clothes from the closet.  </p><p><br/> Pants in hand, he froze as the bunker’s alarm system went off, bathing the room in red light.</p><p> <br/> “Oh, come on.  You let in a bunch of succubi, and now you come on?  What the hell is wrong now?” </p><p><br/> “I believe that would be me,” a smooth voice hissed from just beside Ash.</p><p><br/> Sam went pale.  “Lucifer,” he hissed, clenching his fists.</p><p><br/> Castiel drew his angel blade, his wings ruffling like a bird trying to scare away a larger predator.</p><p><br/> Lucifer smiled at them.  “I should have known I couldn’t trust a bunch of two-bit hell-whores to get a job done.  Good help is so hard to find these days.”</p><p> <br/> Castiel, Sam and Dean all stepped toward him, despite being comically under-equipped for a fight.  Lucifer threw them backwards and pinned them to the walls: He raised a finger, and it felt like their kidneys were being run through a meat grinder.  They groaned and writhed in pain as the phantom meat grinder chewed its way from kidneys to spleen to liver, then down through the intestines.  Ash growled, trying to look tough, though if a strong breeze had come through at that moment she would have fallen over.  <br/> “So here’s how this is going to go,” Lucifer said conversationally.  “Ash is going to come with me, and in return, because I am a much more benevolent deity than my father—” Castiel snorted, and he shot him a snake-eyed glare that shut him up quick, “I am not going to kill everyone in this building.  Alternatively, you can not come with me, and I will kill everyone in the bunker, then take you anyway.”</p><p><br/> “Don’t—” Dean started to say, and Lucifer removed his ability to speak.  </p><p><br/> “Shush.  Adults are talking.”</p><p><br/> Ash looked up at Castiel helplessly.  They were all good as dead now, anyway.  She had nothing left in her—if she tried to fight now, they would all die instantly.  At least if she left with him, it would give them a chance to win the war later.  </p><p><br/> &lt;Castiel&gt;, Ash prayed, &lt;Could you just tell Dean…Tell him I…&gt;  She shook her head.  &lt;Oh, he knows.&gt; </p><p><br/> She stepped toward Lucifer, head hung low in defeat.  </p><p><br/> “Good girl,” Lucifer purred, and everything around them vanished. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “What the fuck!” Dean shouted as the three of them dropped to the floor.  The excruciating pain inside them had disappeared, but now they had other problems.  </p><p> “It was the only way, Dean,” Castiel said, sounding tired.  “We have to play his game.”</p><p><br/> “I thought the whole point of this—all of this—was to make sure he never got ahold of her.”  Dean finally stepped into his pants, flustered that he’d had to face Lucifer in his underwear.</p><p><br/> “The point is to stop him from destroying all of Creation,” Castiel replied.  “We can still do that.” </p><p><br/> They gathered the surviving hunters and Rowena back in the war room, and Castiel ushered two newcomers in from the outside world.  Both looked familiar to Sam and Dean, though their faces were hard to place.  The man’s serious expression clashed with his fuzzy argyle sweater vest, which brought to mind a cheerful college English professor.  </p><p><br/> “Tim?!” Sam said, who recognized him first.</p><p><br/> The man’s scowl broke into a smile, his eyes lighting up at the younger Winchester.  “Sam!  Good to see you again!”  He pulled Sam into a bear hug and clapped him on the back.  Sam patted Tim’s back awkwardly.  </p><p><br/> Dean looked at them both incredulously.  “Who…?”</p><p><br/> “The cherub from the bar,” Sam explained.  When this got a blank look, he expanded: “Valentine’s Day?  You were worried he was going to alert the other angels that Ash was there?”</p><p><br/> “Oh.  Right.  Tim.”  His brow knit together.  “They got cherubs fighting now?  No offense, but you guys aren’t exactly warriors.”</p><p><br/> Tim’s grin broadened.  He snapped one arm out in front of him and a massive black bow appeared.  It was not the cutesy little Cupid bow Dean had envisioned: This was the kind of bow that ancient armies would have used to slaughter thousands of the enemy.  An arrow appeared in his other hand, its tip holding a familiar metallic shine.</p><p><br/> “It’s an angel blade,” Sam muttered.</p><p><br/> Tim winked at him and both bow and arrow vanished.  “Best way to kill a demon.  Cherubs weren’t always Cupid’s little helpers, you know.  Back when things were…Not as civil down here, or up there, we were specially trained archers in Father’s army.  When our skills were no longer needed to kill, we were repurposed—but we haven’t forgotten our roots.” </p><p><br/> The woman cleared her throat pointedly.  </p><p><br/> “Anael,” Castiel said by way of introduction.</p><p><br/> “We are ready.  Where is the Nephilim?”</p><p><br/> Castiel hesitated.  “The, um…Lucifer…”</p><p><br/> Anael sighed dramatically.  “Really, Castiel?  You said you had it under control!”</p><p><br/> “Hey, we’re gettin’ her back!” Dean snapped.  “Don’t get your feathers in a twist.”</p><p><br/> “And how is that, exactly?  You humans, up against an archangel?  You have no means of killing him.  &lt;We&gt; have no means of killing him.”</p><p><br/> “Anael, please,” Castiel said calmly.  “The plan remains the same.  Ash will find a way.”</p><p><br/> “You lost my granddaughter already?” Rowena sighed.  “Somehow, I’m not surprised.  Alright, what is this plan, then?  Don’t tell me it’s the typical Winchester mess of ‘run in guns blazing and get yourself killed?’”</p><p><br/> Dean glared at her, but she ignored him.  Sam started to speak, and stopped.</p><p><br/> “That…Is more or less the plan,” Castiel said, eyebrows furrowing.  “Unless you have a better idea…?”’ </p><p><br/> Rowena was silent for a moment.  She shrugged.  “I suppose it’s as good a plan as anything at this point.”</p><p><br/> “What about the rest of you?” Castiel asked the surviving hunters.  “Do you still wish to fight?”</p><p><br/> Every man and woman nodded with grim determination.  </p><p><br/> Jody put a hand on each of her girls’ shoulders.  “Claire and Alex will stay here.”</p><p><br/> “Jody!” Claire protested.</p><p><br/> “We’ve been over this.  I know you’re legally an adult, and I don’t care,” Jody replied sternly.  “I lost my family once, and I’m not doing it again.  You and Alex are going to guard this bunker from whatever Hell throws at you, and when the smoke clears you can drag my dead body off the battlefield!” </p><p><br/> “Is this…All of them?” Anael asked, looking around at the small and exhausted crew.</p><p><br/> Castiel nodded.  “Yes.”</p><p><br/> “You should stay here, then,” she said to the humans.  “All of you.  You will die if you come with us.”</p><p><br/> Garth tried to puff his chest out, which was difficult given that he didn’t have much of one to begin with.  “You kidding?  We do this every day.  I’m a hunter—if I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die fighting.  We aren’t letting the monsters win that easy.”</p><p><br/> “Darn straight,” Donna said, and when she puffed &lt;her&gt; chest out, Anael had to resist taking a step backwards.  “We aren’t afraid of a bunch of demons, and we aren’t afraid of the devil.”</p><p><br/> Tim and Anael blinked in tandem.  “You…You really want to do this?”</p><p><br/> There was a smattering of emphatic nods and ‘yeps.’  </p><p><br/> Castiel put his hands on Sam and Dean’s shoulders, nodding for Tim and Anael to do the same with the other humans.</p><p> <br/> “I think you put too much faith in your hybrid’s abilities,” Anael warned, stalling their takeoff.  “She’ll never overpower Lucifer on her own; he’s going to use her to—”</p><p><br/> “She’s not alone,” Castiel interrupted.  </p><p><br/> “Oh?  And who in Hell is going to magically save her—a demon?”</p><p><br/> Castiel gave her the most wicked smile an angel could possibly make.  </p><p><br/> “Oh, fu—”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16: The End of the World, Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Apocalypse continues.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ash was in Hell.  The throne room, to be precise.  Before she could even think to move away, Lucifer’s hand was on her head.  She felt the familiar tingle of Grace flow through her, and felt more energized.  &lt;He’s…Healing me?&gt; She thought incredulously.  </p>
<p><br/>“I already have one dog, I don’t need another,” he said.  “You should be strong enough to shift now, so we can talk like civilized…Supernatural beings.”  </p>
<p><br/>Ash stared back at him.  Of all the ways she saw this going—chained to a wall, chained to a ceiling, chained to the floor--having the Devil heal her so they could chat was not one of them.  Maybe he just wanted to chain her up in her human form, so it would be easier to torture her?  Whatever he had planned, she’d have to put up with it for now; it wasn’t like she could take him on by herself.  She shifted to human, and suddenly became aware of a half-dozen pairs of demon eyes fixed on her naked form.  She kept her eyes locked on Lucifer, refusing to acknowledge the others.  </p>
<p><br/>One of the demons inched forward, a lecherous leer on his face; Lucifer’s eyes snapped toward him, and the demon disintegrated.  The others shuffled back reflexively while also pretending not to notice that their coworker had been vaporized.</p>
<p> <br/>“Hands off,” Lucifer said, his eyes glowing.  “Do I make myself clear?”</p>
<p><br/> Heads nodded furiously.</p>
<p><br/> “Good.”  He waved a hand, and every demon flinched in unison.  “You’re dismissed.”</p>
<p><br/> Burning buildings were evacuated with less urgency than the throne room at that moment.  There was a brief jam-up in the doorway as five bodies struggled to exit at the same time, and then Ash was left alone with the devil.  </p>
<p><br/>Lucifer sat down on the throne and snapped his fingers, and a chair appeared beside him.  </p>
<p><br/> “Sit,” he said, and though his tone was friendly, she knew it wasn’t a suggestion.  </p>
<p><br/> She sat down a little awkwardly, still feeling extremely uncomfortable without clothes.  She pulled her legs up on the seat and hugged her knees, taking her eyes off the archangel long enough to scan the room for any evidence that her own demon had been there.</p>
<p><br/> There was no sign of Crowley.  She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign: given his track record with the Devil, Lucifer would have something especially unpleasant lined up for him.  </p>
<p><br/> He snapped his fingers and Ash flinched so hard she almost fell off her seat.  As her heartrate returned to normal, she realized she was now dressed in her own clothes.  </p>
<p><br/> “Relax, kid.  Might as well get comfortable, cause you’re not going anywhere for a while.”  He leaned back against the throne and stretched his legs out.  “I have a footstool around here somewhere—hang on.”  He turned his head to the right, toward a series of small holding cells.  “Dog!” he called, and whistled.</p>
<p><br/> The cell door closest to them swung open and a demon emerged slowly, shuffling forward on its hands and knees.  It was wearing a garishly bright Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, the cheery colors standing out in stark contrast to the dark purple bruises and reddish-black cuts that covered its skin.  An iron collar, covered in Enochian sigils, was padlocked around his neck.  One eye was almost completely swollen shut, and a network of scars obscured his face, but there was no mistaking that it was Crowley.  As he crawled over to Lucifer, he kept his head down, not acknowledging Ash with so much as a glance her way.  He left a trail of blood on the floor behind him.<br/> Lucifer lifted his feet up and Crowley crawled under them: the devil set his boots down on the demon’s back heavily, and Crowley grimaced but didn’t make a sound.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash shook with rage.  She wasn’t strong enough to hurt Lucifer—not now, not when it was just the two of them—she knew that, but damn did she want to try.  He’d hurt her demon.  Humiliated him, no doubt in front of every demon in Hell, just like he’d done before.  He’d turned him into his pet—no, not a pet, people cared about those (she should know)—he’d turned him into a &lt;joke&gt;.  Lucifer had taken Crowley, HER DEMON, and make him a PUNCH LINE.  </p>
<p><br/> She could feel her vision sharpen to take in small movements.  Her heartrate increased along with her breathing.  It felt like she’d been given a mega dose of the Leviathan’s serum, but this was all organic: The urge to kill, to rip Lucifer to pieces, was almost too great to resist.  But that wasn’t in the Plan.  She had to wait.  And so she would wait, like a crocodile lurking on the edge of the river, until it was time to strike.  And then she would destroy every atom of his being.</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer’s smile broadened.  “You don’t like my little pet?”  He leaned forward to pat Crowley’s head condescendingly.  “But I have him trained so well.”  </p>
<p><br/>He flicked his wrist and a glass appeared in his hand, full of amber fluid.  Ash could smell it from where she sat: It was Crowley’s favorite scotch.  </p>
<p><br/> “You’re awfully worked up about this ‘end of the world’ business.  But it’s like I said before: People are terrible.  Dad might’ve made them in His image, but He’s a huge dick--all he did was crank out a few billion more assholes, just like him.  He could have made a world where people didn’t have to suffer.  He could have created life-forms that don’t need to kill each other to survive, but no—every living thing depends on some other living thing dying so that it can keep living.”  He took a long drink and glared at what remained in his glass until it refilled itself.  “You’re a smart kid, Ash.  We can fix His mistakes.  You can make a world &lt;you&gt; want to live in.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash stared at a point just to the side of Lucifer’s ear, unable to look directly at him or Crowley without screaming.  “I like the world I’ve got,” she said, voice wavering as she attempted to maintain control.</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer snorted derisively.  “Yeah, right.  You think those lumbering Neanderthals are the greatest thing since multi-cellular organisms.  You think, because they fight monsters—because they fight &lt;me&gt;--they’re the ‘good guys.’”  He leaned forward, and his eyes became more snake-like.  “They’re just as rotten as every other stinking meat-suit up there.  My buddy Sammy?  You didn’t see him on demon blood.  You didn’t see him traipsing around without his soul, ready to sacrifice anyone or anything as long as it would accomplish his goal.  And your little man-toy—don’t even get me started.  Forty years in Hell, and most of that was spent torturing other souls.  He was our top guy down here.  A lot of demons, they do their jobs and do them well.  But Dean…He took real pride in his work.  From what I hear, he was the best of the best—because he liked it.  He &lt;loved&gt; it.  Did you ever wonder why he’s continued to hunt all these years?  It’s not out of some misguided sense of ‘duty’ to his father or Sam.  If he really wanted to save people, there are a million other ways he could go about it—safer, easier ways.  Dean Winchester hunts because he likes to kill.  And he can get away with killing monsters—they’re not humans, no one misses them.  He’s a hero for killing them.  But deep down, it’s not about saving people.  It’s not about being a hero.  It’s about taking lives.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash was now staring directly into his eyes: She felt like she couldn’t look away, as if she’d been hypnotized.  The things he said…Maybe it was the way he said them, or maybe he was using his mojo on her, but it felt like every word he said was the truth.  </p>
<p><br/> “So, here’s the deal,” he said, breaking eye contact to lean back again.  “I’m going to leave you here while I go kill all your little friends.  Once all of my brothers and sisters are dead, I’ll come back for you, and we’ll give this whole thing another go.  I’ll need to possess you to do that, but at that point I doubt you’ll mind—it’s not like you’ll have anyone left to fight for.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash broke out of her rage-filled haze for a moment.  “Possess me?” </p>
<p><br/> Lucifer took a sip of his drink.  “You’re strong, but you aren’t &lt;that&gt; strong.  You’re more of an…Amplifier.  I can destroy the world on my own, no problem: I may have a little help from those putrid little demons I created, but let’s face it—I’m the brains &lt;and&gt; the brawn of this operation.  But I can’t &lt;create&gt;.  You can—or rather, you’ll be able to once I possess you.  And don’t worry about exploding—you’re a ‘clean’ vessel, so you’re safe.  That’s why I had to leave those instructions about not killing people or having sex with them.”</p>
<p><br/> &lt;’I’ had to leave those instructions.&gt;  Her eyes widened.  She could see Crowley react to his words as well, his posture stiffening and his head turning slightly.  She played the words back over in her head: &lt;’I’ had to leave those instructions.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> “What are you talking about?” Ash asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. </p>
<p><br/> The Devil’s grin, already wide, threatened to split his face in half (if only it would, Ash thought).  “The instructions I gave to Agnes Nutter.  You didn’t think she got those visions all by herself, did you?”  </p>
<p><br/> He slid his legs off of Crowley’s back and stood up, casually booting the demon to the side as he moseyed toward Ash.  “I had to tell someone about you.  Agnes was a powerful witch; it was easy to get inside her head.  I showed her what I knew: How you’d be created, and what you would do for me.  I knew that all of Heaven and Earth would try to stop you, though, so I needed to embellish a little.  I told her that you could also destroy me.  I showed her a false prophecy to protect you from the angels and others who wanted me to fail.”</p>
<p><br/> “You’re lying,” Crowley hissed, his voice dry and raspy from lack of use.</p>
<p><br/> “What’s the matter, Crowley?  Can’t abide the fact that your largest endeavor has all been for nothing?  That you’ve essentially caused your own destruction?”  He took a step away from Ash, toward the demon.  “Or that the only being that ever loved you died for no reason?”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley growled.  Ash looked momentarily lost.</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer spun again, turning to face Ash.  “Did he not tell you about her?  The so-called ‘fallen angel’ he blackmailed into selling herself to him?  You’d think he’d at least &lt;mention&gt; your mother after all these years.”  He shrugged.  “But, then again—demon.  I guess it’s true, then, that he never really cared about her at all.  What was her name…Marian, I believe?”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley was seething, his eyes burning red.  Ash, on the other hand, leaned forward, intrigued.  She had never heard her mother’s name before.  For just a moment, the fact that they were powerless to stop the end of the world didn’t bother her.  All that mattered was that one word: &lt;Marian.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> The Devil smiled and winked at her, and she went back to feeling powerless.  </p>
<p><br/> “Crowley will have plenty of time to tell you about her while I’m gone.  Nothing like the Apocalypse to start a little demon-daughter bonding time, eh?”  He flicked his wrist, and Crowley went flying back into his cell, hitting the far wall with a solid ‘thunk’ as the barred door slammed shut and locked itself.  Before Ash could so much as blink, she was also flying into a cell, though she stopped before she slammed into the wall.  Enochian handcuffs appeared around her wrists, and Enochian shackles tightened around her ankles.  The cell door shut and locked itself from the outside, and Lucifer’s head appeared on the other side of the grating.  </p>
<p><br/> “See you on the other side, kid.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to destroy.”  He saluted, and was gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> The throne room was silent.  Ash sat with her back against cold concrete, hugging her knees.  Her mind was completely occupied by two thoughts: One, &lt;everything I’ve done and worked toward my entire life has been for nothing; I can’t stop Lucifer, and everyone is going to die—Sam and Dean and Crowley and Castiel—and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.&gt;  And two, &lt;Marian.  Her name is Marian.&gt;  She had no concept of time, or how long she spent wallowing in self-pity before the silence was broken.</p>
<p><br/> “Well, that’s a bummer,” someone who was not Crowley said.  They sounded even more hoarse than him, like they hadn’t used their voice, apart from screaming, in months.</p>
<p><br/> Ash picked her head up.  She knew Lucifer would have left demons behind to guard her, but this didn’t sound like a demon.  She was pretty sure it was coming from another cell.  “Who are you?”</p>
<p><br/> “That would be Gabriel,” Crowley said from her other side.</p>
<p><br/> “Gabriel,” Ash repeated.  She’d heard about a Gabriel.  “Asshole Gabriel?”</p>
<p><br/> “Archangel Gabriel,” the voice corrected.  He was quiet for a moment, then added: “But I suppose ‘asshole’ fits as well.  So, now that your dreams are crushed, what’s plan ‘B?’”</p>
<p><br/> Metal hit metal with a loud ‘clang’ from Crowley’s cell as he hit the bars with his shackles.  “There is no plan ‘B,’ you halfwit tree-topper!  Ash was always the only plan!  Unless you have any bright ideas?”</p>
<p><br/> The room fell silent again.  Ash resumed thinking about her imminent failure.  After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Crowley started to laugh.  </p>
<p><br/> It was not a sane laugh.</p>
<p><br/> “We don’t need a plan ‘B.’  Plan ‘A’ is still going to work.”</p>
<p><br/> “Sure, if you want to kill yourself,” Gabriel said.  “Luci wasn’t lying: Weren’t you listening?  He made up the part about her being able to kill him.”</p>
<p><br/> “He made it up, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Crowley said.</p>
<p><br/> “Uh, actually—”</p>
<p><br/> “Lucifer said that possessing Ash would amplify his power and hers.  There’s no reason to think that wouldn’t apply to anyone else who possessed her, too.”</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel thought for a moment.  “You’re still looking at an insane amount of power to go up against him.  You know he’s been stealing my Grace, using it to make himself even stronger—”</p>
<p><br/> “Yes, I know.  And you’re next to useless.”</p>
<p><br/> “&lt;You&gt; want to possess her.”  Gabriel coughed and took in a wheezing breath.  “It won’t be enough.”</p>
<p><br/> “No.  But I’ve got a plan now, and it will work.”</p>
<p><br/> “Does this plan involve a way to get out of here?”</p>
<p><br/> “In a minute.”  Crowley was quiet for a moment, steeling himself for the one Talk with Ash he’d avoided her whole life.  There was no sense prolonging the inevitable, though, and there was still the Devil to kill.  “She wasn’t really a fallen angel.  Lucifer is a fallen angel, and she was nothing like him.  She’d been an angel once, but she sort of…Sauntered vaguely downwards.  She was almost entirely human when I met her.  A hunter, too, just like Moose and Squirrel.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash turned toward Crowley’s cell, scooting as far over as she could.  It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about her mother, and now she was determined not to miss a word.  All she knew about her mother was what the Prophecy said: Crowley had shut down all questions about her quite thoroughly when she was a child, making it clear that the topic was not up for discussion, ever.  </p>
<p><br/> “She didn’t get on very well with the people Upstairs.  About…Sixty years ago, give or take a decade, there was talk about starting Armageddon.  Everyone, Above and Below, was in on it: Lucifer was going to rise and fight Michael, the seas were going to boil over, blah, blah, blah.  You know how it is.  A few billion humans would die, as would much of the other life on Earth, but the higher-ups say that’s the cost of doing business and it can’t be helped.  Well, Marian didn’t like that at all.  She said that the angels were there to protect the planet, not destroy it.  She got a few of her rebellious little friends together—including Castiel, by the way—and derailed the whole thing.<br/> “The angels were pissed.  They threw most of the offenders in ‘angel jail’, wiped Cassie’s mind clean, and banished your mother to Earth as a human.  But she still had a bit of angel in her, and it was enough to catch my attention regarding this bloody Prophecy business.”  Chains jingled as he ran his hand across his face.  “She loved animals.  More than people, I think.  Sometimes I wonder if that’s why you’re able to shapeshift—maybe she passed that on to you, in a more…Physical sense.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash was hanging on his every word, barely even breathing.  She couldn’t describe the way she was feeling in that moment, only that she needed to know more.  </p>
<p><br/> “You look just like her,” Crowley said.  He sounded pained, almost angry.  “It’s bad enough that you make me &lt;feel&gt;; you have to have her face, too…Dealing with you as a human is torture, and not the fun kind.”  He paused.  “Lucifer was right about one thing: She was the only person who ever truly cared about me.  Aside from you, of course.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash felt…Things.  Lots of things.  She was frustrated that she’d gone her whole life without knowing about her mother.  She felt guilty that she’d caused Crowley so much pain just by existing: Every time he looked at her, he was just reminded of what he’d lost—the one being in all of Creation that had loved him, and maybe the only one he cared about, as well.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;He cared about her.&gt;  She’d always known that was why he wouldn’t talk about her, but to hear him actually talk about it…Ash had always loved Crowley, but right now the word ‘love’ didn’t seem sufficient.  ‘Adoration,’ maybe.  She was as enthusiastic about him as a dog greeting its owner after a months-long absence.  If she had been in dog-form at that moment, her tail would have wagged so hard it would have sprained itself.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley could feel her love, and it made his skin crawl.  He wanted to gouge his eyes out with rusty nails and rip his teeth out with a plumber’s wrench.  On the other hand, it was nice to feel loved…</p>
<p><br/> “What did you do?!”  </p>
<p><br/> A demon burst into the throne room, teeth bared, drenched in sweat.  Crowley recognized him as Columbus, a sycophantic ass who’d quickly risen in Lucifer’s ranks.  Evidently, being a higher-up meant staying behind to guard the Nephilim.  </p>
<p><br/> “What did you do, Crowley?!” Columbus repeated.  “Why do I feel—”  He scratched at his arms and chest, shaking his head.  “Why do I feel?”  He noticed Ash in the next cell over.  “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the Nephilim.”  He scratched the back of his neck, then his arms.  He stepped from foot to foot, unable to hold still for more than a few seconds at a time.  “Huh.  That’s a disappointment—thought you’d be hotter.”  He stuck his face right up against the bars.  “What are you doing to me?”  </p>
<p><br/> Ash stared back at the demon.  &lt;This is why Crowley told me about my mom,&gt; she realized.  &lt;He knew I would get emotional, and it would affect our guard.  That’s…The only reason he told me.&gt;  </p>
<p><br/> It was disappointing, in a way, that he’d only told her in order to use her.  Then again, she understood why he’d never wanted to talk about her.  The worst thing for a demon was to feel things.</p>
<p><br/> Columbus was feeling things.  But he was fighting it.  “Lucifer said not to talk to you.  But you…You’re doing something.  Stop it!”</p>
<p><br/> Ash smiled.  Crowley was the cleverest demon she’d ever known, and she wasn’t just thinking it because he’d raised her.  He really was just that awesome.</p>
<p><br/> Columbus slammed his palms against the door.  “It’s not fair!  I shouldn’t have been the one to die!  I don’t belong in Hell!”</p>
<p><br/> Ash blinked.  “What?”</p>
<p><br/> The demon blinked back.  “What?”  He shook his head, trying to clear the very &lt;human&gt; memory of being collected by a hellhound at the age of 30, a depressed, flabby, pimpled virgin, all because he’d sold his soul to save his high school sweetheart—a sweetheart who’d been dying from a rare and chemo-resistant form of brain cancer.  She’d been battling it for years, and he’d been by her side every step of the way, through every high and low.  Her family was very religious, as was she, and she’d told him it was important that she wait until marriage.  Well, fine; she was worth the wait.  She gave awesome blowjobs, and that was almost as good as the real thing, right?  He’d gone to a community college to stay close to her, instead of going to one of the Ivy League schools he’d been accepted to—but it was worth it to be there for her.  When the doctor had told her she had months to live, he’d called up his English professor, who seemed to have a thing for the occult, and the man (who was really a demon, but Columbus hadn’t known that at the time) had told him how to make a crossroads deal.  He’d done it without hesitation: The love of his life would be cured and live a long, healthy life, and in ten years the demon would collect his soul.  At the age of twenty, ten years was a lifetime away, and hardly mattered at all.  So he’d made the deal.  </p>
<p><br/> Being cancer-free gave his girlfriend an all new outlook on life.  On her 21st birthday, which she hadn’t expected to be alive to see, she went out with her girlfriends, got completely wasted, and hooked up with a random guy.  The next day, she continued to enjoy her new lease on life: She broke up with Columbus, made plans to move to California (from Minnesota) so she could try her luck in the film industry, and decided that Jesus really didn’t care about pre-marital sex, so her previous night’s tryst was perfectly acceptable.  </p>
<p><br/> Young, naïve, love-struck Columbus did not take this well.  He may have been walking and breathing for the next ten years, but he was hardly alive.  He got a job at a gas station and took comfort in junk food and alcohol, and though he was fun at parties he became almost unbearable to be around sober.  He practically ensured that no one else would ever want a relationship with him.  </p>
<p><br/> It was almost a relief when the hellhound came for him.  </p>
<p><br/> “She didn’t love me,” he whimpered.  “She never loved me.”  He suddenly seemed to remember himself.  “Why do I—Remember?”  He scratched his throat until it bled.  “Why do I—Feel?”</p>
<p><br/> “Let me out,” Ash said, getting to her feet.</p>
<p><br/> The demon shook his head.  “Are you nuts?  Lucifer would roast me—”  His father died in a car accident when he was eight.  Dad had been drinking, and it was raining, and the deer had come out of nowhere.  Dad swerved, tried to protect Columbus in the passenger seat, and ended up taking his own life.  Columbus had sat next to him, pinned by his stuck seatbelt and the airbag, and watched him die before the paramedics arrived (it was a rural road, took almost an hour for a motorist to even come across them, then another half hour for the ambulance to pull up).  He’d sat in the car with his dead dad, crying until he couldn’t cry anymore, and all the adults wanted to know if he was okay—no, he was not okay.  He would never be okay.  He’d just watched his father die, seen him take his last breath, and how was any of that okay?  There had been many days in the torture pits, before he’d become a demon, that all they’d shown him was his father’s last moments.  He’d watched him die again, and again, and again, and—<br/> Columbus screamed and dropped to the floor, curling up in the fetal position.</p>
<p><br/> “Columbus,” Crowley said, trying to bring his attention back.</p>
<p><br/> The demon whined pathetically.  “No, no, no, make it stop, make it stop—”</p>
<p><br/> “Columbus.  Unlock all the cells.”</p>
<p><br/> “Not my daddy.  Please for the love of Hell not my daddy again!”</p>
<p><br/> “Open the doors, and the feelings will fade.”</p>
<p><br/> Columbus snapped his head up.  “No more feeling?”</p>
<p><br/> “No more.”</p>
<p><br/> The demon scrambled to his feet and fumbled with the keys.  He unlocked Ash’s door first, then moved on to Crowley.  As soon as the door was open, Crowley grabbed him and reached for the angel blade he knew was stashed in his belt.  High on emotion and memory, Columbus didn’t stand a chance.  Crowley stabbed him through his chest, and the demon sparked out, dead.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley grabbed Columbus’s keys and found the one that opened his shackles, then moved on to Ash’s cell to undo hers.  She wanted to hug him, but knew that would be pushing things too far.</p>
<p><br/> “You look terrible,” she said.</p>
<p><br/> Crowley laughed.  With a snap of his fingers, his injuries healed and his garish Hawaiian tourist outfit was replaced by his Armani suit.  “Right.  Let’s get us an archangel.”</p>
<p><br/> He opened Gabriel’s cell, and Ash got her first look at him.  He had fared worse than Crowley: Both eyes were swollen and purple; his skin was covered in a network of scars and bruises, new ones layered over old ones, a three-dimensional souvenir of Lucifer’s attention.  He looked like he’d been decapitated and had his head sewn back on, from all the times the Devil had slit his throat for his Grace.  It was difficult for him to stand, and once he got to his feet he shuffled slowly, lurching like a zombie.  </p>
<p><br/> “Luci may have some of my Grace stashed somewhere, but I’ll be damned if I know where.”  Gabriel coughed.  “Pardon the expression.”</p>
<p><br/> “Better start looking, then,” Crowley said.  He ran his hand along the wall, and a small panel popped open.  It was empty.  “Damn.”</p>
<p><br/> He moved quickly, checking a number of hidden panels he’d installed when he was king.  None of them yielded anything helpful, aside from a bottle of scotch.</p>
<p><br/> “It’s almost as if he wanted us to escape,” Gabriel mused, poking around a shelf full of contract files.  “Didn’t give us any challenge at all.”</p>
<p><br/> “He doesn’t think we’re a threat.  He doesn’t believe Ash can kill him,” Crowley said.  He poured himself a drink and offered one to Gabriel; to his surprise, the angel accepted.  “Never thought you birds went in for this stuff.”</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel smiled and clinked his glass.  “Never thought you snakes could get sentimental.”</p>
<p><br/> “Oh, that’s just Ash.  She brings out the best in me, you know; it’s terrible.”</p>
<p><br/> “And yet you’re not dissolving in agony like that guard.”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley sniffed disdainfully.  “Please—I’m Crowley.”  He opened a trick panel in the wall, sliding into a room that no one else should have known existed.  Inside was a warded chest, inaccessible to angels or demons.  </p>
<p><br/> “You must feel &lt;some&gt; effect from her,” Gabriel pressed.</p>
<p><br/> He grimaced and turned away from the angel.  “It can be…Unpleasant at times,” he admitted.  “But if being a demon was fun, &lt;all&gt; the kids would be doing it.  This one’s all you, Ash.  We’re locked out.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash opened the chest cautiously: Inside was a larger version of an angel blade, and a jar that glowed blue.  She removed both.</p>
<p><br/> “Guess he was saving some for a rainy day, the bastard.”  Gabriel took the sword, holding it up for inspection.  </p>
<p><br/> “What is it?”</p>
<p><br/> “An archangel sword.  I lost mine millennia ago.”  He made a complicated gesture with his hands, and the sword disappeared somewhere on his person.  Then he took the jar of Grace.  With reverence, he opened the lid and let it flow back inside of him.  Instantly, his eyes lit up and his injuries healed.  “Ah, that’s more like it!”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley edged back from him, holding Ash in front of him like a shield.  He had been completely relaxed around him before, when the archangel hadn’t posed a threat to him: now, though, he was staring down the barrel of a nuclear-powered Colt.  </p>
<p><br/> “Right.  Great,” Crowley said.  “You’re all recharged now, and ready to kick your brother’s ass?”</p>
<p><br/> “Well, partially recharged.  Lucifer’s been using me like a steroid for a long time now; I’ll need a lot more grace to equal up to him.”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley started to relax.</p>
<p><br/> “Course, I’m not useless—I can still cut down demons like blades of grass.”</p>
<p><br/> “Ah.  Of course.”  Crowley gripped Ash’s arm a little tighter and backed out of the secret room.  </p>
<p><br/> “So, let’s get this party started!”  Gabriel was suddenly far too close for the demon’s comfort, holding his hand out toward Ash’s forehead.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley whipped her out of the way.  “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.  </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel blinked in surprise.  “Giving her some more mojo.  Lucifer only healed her enough to keep her on her feet, but she’s a long way from full-power.  You’re gonna need all the help you can get out there.”</p>
<p><br/> “Oh.  Alright.”  </p>
<p><br/> Ash was pulled back in front of Crowley, and Gabriel’s hand returned to her forehead.  She tensed as he made contact.</p>
<p><br/> “It’s alright, Princess,” Crowley murmured.</p>
<p><br/> “It’s just like being healed,” Gabriel said.  “Won’t hurt at all.”</p>
<p><br/> She felt the grace flow through her, cold and electric, and her tongue tasted like she’d licked a battery.  And now, she was…Energized.  The grace had sent her from ‘okay standing up’ to ‘full tank of fuel’ in a matter of seconds.  </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel smiled.  “You ready to take on the devil?”</p>
<p><br/> &lt;The single most important task you’ll ever have, that you’ve trained your whole life for and couldn’t possibly screw up without disappointing the entire planet?  The thing that’s almost definitely going to kill you?&gt;  She swallowed hard.  “’Course.”</p>
<p><br/> They started walking toward the building’s exit, Ash between the angel and the demon.  </p>
<p><br/> “Scared, Princess?”</p>
<p><br/> She jumped slightly.  “No.”</p>
<p><br/> He squeezed her shoulder.  “It’s alright—you may not be human, but you have the emotional capacity of one, and then some.  You’d have to be completely delusional not to doubt yourself.”</p>
<p><br/> “Ah?”</p>
<p><br/> “You’ll be alright, kid.  I’ll be right there with you.”</p>
<p><br/> “Where will we find him?”</p>
<p><br/> “One of Hell’s gates.”</p>
<p><br/>Gabriel paused and tilted his head back, listening.  “Hold on—angel radio.  He’s at an abandoned Air Force base in Limestone, Maine.”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley downed the rest of his scotch.</p>
<p><br/> “The angels are rallying on the far side of the base,” Gabriel said.  “The Winchesters are with them, along with a few more humans.”</p>
<p><br/> “Right.  Let them know I have Ash, will you?”  </p>
<p><br/> “You’re not joining them?”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley gave the archangel a wicked smile.  “A demon, popping up in the midst of an angel army?  I don’t see that going down well, even if we are fighting the same enemy.  No, we’ll cut around from the back and meet up with you later.”  He turned to Ash.  “Not sure what we’re walking in to, exactly, but it isn’t going to be friendly.  Are you ready?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Where the Hell are we?” Dean shouted over the storm.</p>
<p><br/> “Limestone, Maine,” Castiel shouted back.  </p>
<p><br/> They were in an old aircraft hangar, empty save for a dilapidated old jet and a few old Jeeps the Air Force hadn’t deemed worthy of salvaging.  Almost a hundred angels filled the space, in addition to the handful of humans they’d brought with them.  The majority of the angels wore white (which was the angelic equivalent of an army uniform, Cas informed them), though some still had their regular ‘human’ outfits, like jeans and suits.  Cherubs were easy to pick out among the crowd as they inspected their massive bows before the battle.  It was impossible to see anything through the windows outside, but they could hear hail pounding on the roof, along with a steady roll of thunder.  </p>
<p><br/> “Sun should be up by now,” Sam said.</p>
<p><br/> “It’s the darkness,” Castiel replied.  “The final plague.”</p>
<p><br/> The angels’ heads raised in unison, sensing a new threat around them.  </p>
<p><br/> “Sam.  Dean.  Get down.”</p>
<p><br/> Glass showered down on them as demons without bodies burst through the windows.  The larger hangar doors bowed inward as demons on the ground pushed against them with their power.  Angels pushed back with their own power, and cherubs fired arrows at the black wispy forms above them.  </p>
<p><br/> “You see the green Jeep?” Castiel asked, shielding his friends from the glass.  “It’s filled with holy water in pesticide applicators.  Think you can get to it?”</p>
<p><br/> “No problem,” Sam said.</p>
<p><br/> The doors burst inward, and demons swarmed inside.  </p>
<p><br/> “Maybe a &lt;bit&gt; of a problem,” Sam amended.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Angels and demons were spread out across the whole property, scattered amongst buildings and the open training grounds and airfields.  Humans fired demon-killing bullets and devil’s trap bullets and sprayed holy water at them.  Bodies of all breeds littered every available surface, including the roof tops.  Rain continued to pound down on them, but at least the hail had let up some.  Occasionally, a chunk of ice the size of a golf ball or marble would strike someone on the head and leave them with a decent gash, or even knock them out.  The darkness was relentless: They couldn’t even see the clouds above them, and there was no sign of either sun or moon.  Out in the middle of the runway, it was darker than fighting in a sewer (and all the hunters had done that at least once in their careers): for the supernatural contenders, this didn’t pose a huge challenge, but it was proving difficult for the humans.  Dean hotwired one of the old Jeeps and got the headlights going, and though the light drew demons toward them, at least they could see them coming.  </p>
<p><br/> A sort of chain of protection formed automatically: Jody and Donna watched out for Claire and Alex; Sam watched out for Jody and Donna; Dean watched out for Sam; and Castiel watched out for Dean.  The rest of the hunters were separated from them, and passing angels informed them that Garth had taken charge of the others in an old dormitory, launching holy water balloons out the windows onto any demon that tried to get inside the building on foot.  Demons that attempted to blink directly inside found themselves in one of many hastily-drawn devil’s traps, or were instantly deflected back by warding.  The demons were now attempting to rip the roof off of the building, and more angels had gathered to stop them.  </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel appeared behind Castiel, skewering a demon that had gotten too close.  “Miss me?”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel threw another demon back with his grace.  “Hello, brother.”</p>
<p><br/> “Oh great, &lt;you&gt;,” Dean groaned.  </p>
<p><br/> “Good to see you too, Dean.”</p>
<p><br/> “I thought you were dead?”</p>
<p><br/> “Very nearly.  Sorry to disappoint.”</p>
<p><br/> Dean’s jaw clenched tightly.  “So where have you been hiding?”</p>
<p><br/> “Hell.  It wasn’t exactly the vacation I had in mind.  Your demon friend got me out, by the way.”</p>
<p><br/> “We’re not friends.”  Dean dodged a falling chunk of metal, backing into Cas.  “What about Ash?  Did you see her?”</p>
<p><br/> “Yeah; Crowley’s on his way with her now.”</p>
<p><br/> “She’s with &lt;Crowley&gt;?” Dean groaned.  </p>
<p><br/> “Yes.  She is…Very much with Crowley.”</p>
<p><br/> “Hang on—what do you mean by &lt;that&gt;?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Thousands of demons covered the air field, swarming toward the angels.  A shadow swooped above them and dipped down, a black body against a black sky.  Hail bounced off its hide and lightning danced around it.  When the dragon got close enough to a demon, the demon exploded.  She charged toward the old hangar that seemed to be the center of the fight, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> A bolt of lightning struck the far end of the building, bursting through the roof and striking the ground.  Angels and demons alike were knocked off their feet and raised their arms to protect themselves from falling scraps of metal.  On the opposite side, Sam and Dean felt their hearts stutter.  Sam fell off the top of a Jeep, pitching down onto Donna, who was crouched behind the car reloading her gun.  Bullets scattered across the concrete.  Dean, who was standing in front of the Jeep, fell back and smacked his head on the front bumper, narrowly avoiding stabbing himself in the thigh with his angel blade.  </p>
<p><br/> “The Hell was that?!” Jody shouted, running to check on Sam and Donna.</p>
<p><br/> “Lucifer,” Cas replied, dispatching a demon on his way over to her.  “He’s made a rather over-dramatic entrance, if you ask me.”</p>
<p><br/> “Great,” Dean growled, staggering back to his feet.  He rubbed the back of his head, where a large lump was forming.  “Tell Gabriel to get his ass back over here and kill the fucker.”</p>
<p><br/> But Gabriel was already aware: The smoke had just begun to clear around the devil when his brother appeared behind him.  Lucifer turned before he could take a stab at him, drawing his own archangel blade and fighting back.  </p>
<p><br/> “You’re not surprised to see me,” Gabriel said as they parried back and forth.</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer shrugged, then sent a pulse of energy toward him that sent him flying backward, bowling over a cluster of demons.  “A bit.  I figured the girl would escape, but I must admit I thought she’d leave you to rot.  The Winchesters aren’t your biggest fans; I assume they’ve told her about you.”</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel killed the demons he’d fallen on and launched himself back at the devil.  “Yeah, well, apparently you’re an even bigger asshole than I am.”</p>
<p><br/> “What about that sniveling little demon?  Did you at least kill him?”</p>
<p><br/> Their swords clashed together and stuck, each archangel pressing with all his might.  Gabriel began to slide backward.  “The guard?”</p>
<p><br/> “No—Crowley!  I assume you smote him as soon as you were free?”</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel ground his teeth together as the blades drew closer to his chest.  “What’s that thing the humans say?  ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend?’”</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer barked out a harsh laugh.  “You don’t have friends.”  A troop of archers fired at him, distracting him enough that Gabriel was able to unlock his sword and start another assault on him.  “Crowley is no different than any other demon—a self-serving coward.  He’s not going to be of any use to you now.  You should have killed him when you had the chance.”</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel cocked his head to the side, like he was listening for something.  “Are you sure about that?”</p>
<p><br/> The dragon dropped through the hole in the ceiling and dove straight for Lucifer.  Gabriel leapt out of the way and the devil swept his blade up, catching it on her teeth as she tried to bite him.  He threw her off to the side and she skidded to a halt in a pile of debris and demons.  As she scrambled and flapped her wings, the demons screamed: Some flashed out, while others exploded into ashes.  Ash roared and charged him again, throwing her power forward.  Lucifer pushed back harder, propelling her across the hangar and narrowly missing the group of humans.  Gabriel attacked again, giving the dragon time to recover.</p>
<p><br/> “Ash!” Dean shouted, stabbing a demon in the chest as he ran toward her.  </p>
<p><br/> “Stay back,” Sam ordered the others, running to follow his brother.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash got to her feet and shifted to human; she snapped her fingers and a dress appeared on her.  Sam and Dean skidded to a halt, followed by Castiel.</p>
<p><br/> “Gabriel said Crowley was with her.”</p>
<p><br/> “He is,” Cas said.</p>
<p><br/> “But I don’t…Oh no.  No fucking way—”</p>
<p><br/> “Hello, boys.”  Ash’s eyes flickered red.</p>
<p><br/> “Crowley,” Dean snarled, raising his knife.  “Get the hell out of her!”</p>
<p><br/> Ash raised her hands in surrender and took several steps back, keeping an eye on the weapon.  Her eyes returned to their natural blue as she moved.  “It’s okay, Dean.  He knows what he’s doing.”</p>
<p><br/> He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he’d really let Ash speak just then or if he was just imitating her.  He couldn’t bring himself to trust Crowley: the angel blade flew to her throat.  “Get.  Out.”</p>
<p><br/> Her eyes turned red again.  “Careful, Squirrel.  That thing will kill her, too.”</p>
<p><br/>Dean growled and lowered his weapon.  There was more than one way to get rid of a demon.  “Fine.  Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus--” </p>
<p><br/> “Oh, real mature,” Crowley grumbled.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash’s eyes flashed blue.  “Stop it!” she snapped.</p>
<p><br/>“Dean,” Castiel said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “I understand that Crowley possessing Ash is disturbing for you, but he wouldn’t do this for no reason.  Being inside her must be incredibly painful for him; other demons have died just trying to possess her.”</p>
<p><br/>Dean scowled.  Did he really have to say ‘being inside her’?  Still, they were in the middle of a war; maybe he should listen to Castiel’s advice.  </p>
<p><br/>Cas turned to address the demon.  “Look, would you mind stepping into a different…Vessel, for the time being?  There are plenty of bodies to choose from.  I believe it would make Dean more comfortable and save a lot of time that we don’t have.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash’s eyes flipped back to red.  “Fine.  Since you asked so nicely.”  She gave a little mock bow and sank to her knees.  Red smoke poured out of her mouth and slipped into the corpse of a recently possessed man.  “Better?” the man said, rising to his feet and stepping beside Ash.  </p>
<p><br/> Dean glared back at Crowley.  He could see the uncomfortable expression on his brother’s face, and knew that Sam wanted to trust Castiel’s judgement here; but this was Ash, and Crowley had &lt;freaking possessed her&gt;, and that was so many levels of wrong that he just wanted to blow his damn head off.  Crowley had just surpassed Lucifer at the top of his Must Kill list.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash sagged now that Crowley was out of her.  Dean moved forward to help her, but Castiel put his arm out to block him, shaking his head in warning.  Instead, Crowley helped her to her feet and let her lean against him.  If Dean had been a cartoon character, literal daggers would have come out of his eyes and stabbed the demon in his stupid borrowed meat-suit face.  </p>
<p><br/> “Easy, tiger,” Crowley purred, his temporary face twisting into his usual smirk.  “We’re here to kill Lucifer, remember?”  He cocked his head to the side.  “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?  Me being inside her.”  He couldn’t resist parroting Castiel’s unintentionally sexual words; his smile broadened as Dean’s glare sharpened.  “Never pinned you as the jealous type.”</p>
<p><br/> Now Sam and Cas both had to hold Dean back from attacking him. </p>
<p><br/> “What’s the play, Crowley?” Castiel asked, trying to draw everyone’s attention back to the battle they were currently fighting.  A stray demon got too close to their little pow-wow and Sam disarmed him, then stabbed him in the neck.  </p>
<p><br/> “Heaven and Hell will unite as one,” he quoted.  “The answer’s in the prophecy.”  He decided not to tell the others that Lucifer had made the whole thing up—they didn’t have time to argue.</p>
<p><br/> Castiel’s eyes narrowed.  “Yes, well.  Unless you have a means of converting all of your demons back to your side, I don’t see that happening.”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley shook his head.  “Think on a smaller scale, Castiel.  A much more…Personal scale.”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel stared blankly back at him.  </p>
<p><br/> Crowley sighed.  “You and me, Feathers.  United as one with the Nephilim, just like old Agnes said.”  He gestured to Ash.  “Joint possession, or whatever you folks like to call it that makes it sound all puppies and rainbows.”</p>
<p><br/> “Both of us, using her as a vessel?  It won’t work.  A Nephilim can’t be controlled like that--it’s too powerful.  Logically, you should be dead or at least completely insane, like every other demon that’s touched her.  As for me, adding my Grace to her could make either one of us explode.”</p>
<p><br/> “Number one—I’m not every other demon.  And number two—No one is going to explode.  She’s a ‘pure’ vessel, remember?  We can pos…Inhabit her together, letting her maintain control while she uses our power to her advantage.”</p>
<p><br/> The angel’s eyebrows shot up.  “The rules.  &lt;This&gt; is what they’re for?”</p>
<p><br/> Crowley shrugged.  “What do you say?  Bet you never thought you’d have a three-way with a demon.”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel huffed in agitation.  “Why must you make it sound so…Sexual?”</p>
<p><br/> The demon looked proud of himself.  “Because it gets such a rise out of Squirrel.”  He winked at Dean, who had gone rather red and had a large vein popping out of his head.  He was holding his blade so tightly that his fingers had gone white.  “Come on, Castiel; Gabriel can’t hold him off forever.”</p>
<p><br/> “Oh come on,” Dean said.  “You’re sayin’ the only way to end this is for both of you to—to—possess her?”</p>
<p><br/> “How &lt;are&gt; you alive?” Sam asked.  “Why doesn’t she affect you?”</p>
<p><br/> “I…React to her the same as other demons, but I’ve built up a tolerance.  If I feel like I’m dying, I can always pull out.”  He shrugged and shot Dean a sly smile.</p>
<p><br/> Dean muttered something under his breath that sounded like “dick.”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel turned toward the other end of the compound as he felt a surge in Lucifer’s power.  They were out of time.  “You have to consent,” he said, turning back to Ash.  “It’s an angel thing.  I need your permission.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash blinked.  “Yes.”</p>
<p><br/> “Cas, wait,” Dean said.  “What if he’s wrong?”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel gave him a reassuring smile.  “He’s not.  Now that he’s said it, I understand that there is no other way.  This is how it was always supposed to be.”</p>
<p><br/> “What?!  No.  You’re talking about sharing a vessel with a demon.  You’re talking about &lt;using Ash as a vessel&gt;.  Letting Crowley possess her.”</p>
<p><br/> “Dean,” Ash said.  “I’m safer with them than I am without them.  I know you don’t trust Crowley, and I don’t expect you to; but trust Castiel.  Please.”</p>
<p><br/> The battle was closing in on them.  Castiel grabbed a demon by the head and used his grace to kill it; Crowley threw a batch of demons back with his energy, impaling each one on iron rebar about twenty feet off the ground.  They howled in rage and writhed as they tried to blink away.</p>
<p><br/> Dean broke past Cas and his brother, closing the gap between himself and Ash.  Crowley stepped to the side as Dean approached, staying just out of stabbing range.  </p>
<p><br/> “Ash, I—”  Dean trailed off, unable to complete any sentence that was in danger of involving feelings.  So instead of talking, he kissed her, pulling her against him; one arm around her waist, his other hand against the back of her neck.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash couldn’t just smell the fear on him, she could taste it.  But he also tasted like Dean, and he was warm and she could feel his soul burning so brightly, and it felt better than all the grace in Heaven.  She melted into him until an explosion nearby snapped her back to reality, and she pulled away from him, turning her head toward the danger.  Half a dozen angels were erupting, their essences shooting out of their vessels.  &lt;Lucifer&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> “Alright, wrap it up lover-boy,” Crowley said, grabbing Ash’s arm and hauling her farther away from him.  He gave Castiel another little bow.  “After you, Feathers.”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel’s mouth opened, and blue light streamed out of his vessel and into Ash.  The vessel crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  Crowley followed suit a moment later, giving Dean one last mischievous look before he did.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash fell to her hands and knees, then flopped onto her side.  Her limbs twitched as the entities inside her scrambled to find some semblance of control.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Look, it’s not that difficult&gt;, Crowley chided.  &lt;Just don’t touch anything, for Hell’s sake.  All you’re going to do is project your energy outwards—ouch!—not at me, bird-brain!  If she gets knocked out, then you take control.  Understand?&gt;</p>
<p><br/> She felt the angel’s presence retreat, and realized she had control of her body again.  His energy was still there, buzzing through her blood like an electrical current.  It felt odd against Crowley’s energy: It was ice against fire, unpleasant but not intolerable (which was how it felt, in general, having an angel and a demon stuffed inside of her).  She could feel Crowley’s pain as well, a constant tingly feeling like being stabbed with needles, and it seemed to get worse the longer he possessed her.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;Right.  Let’s kill the devil&gt;.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/> <br/> The devil came to them.  Ash had just managed to shift back into a dragon and spread her wings when Lucifer appeared in front of her.  She reared back in surprise and he shoved her back with his grace, sending her crashing into the wall.</p>
<p><br/> “Do you know what I realized while I was waiting for you to attack me again?” Lucifer said conversationally.  He strolled forward, waving a hand to pin Sam and Dean against the Jeep.  Any angel that got too close to him was instantly disintegrated.  “I’ve only given you nine plagues.  Nine out of ten; isn’t that a shame?  I’d hate to leave you one short.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash righted herself and charged him.  What was the tenth plague?  Something about death; someone died, didn’t they?</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Death of the firstborn son&gt;, Castiel informed her.</p>
<p><br/> “Death of the firstborn son,” Lucifer said aloud.  “Now, I’m not like Dad—I’m not entirely unreasonable, you know.  I’m going to rewrite the entire universe, so there’s really no need to kill &lt;every&gt; firstborn on Earth; it’s a bit redundant at this point.”  Ash reached him and lashed out to bite him; he vanished, appearing behind her, and stabbed his blade through her tail.  The tip of it came out the other end and stuck in the concrete, pinning her in place.  She spun and roared, shooting pains running up her tail and spine, and shoved out at him with her newly enhanced power.  He batted the energy away like it was a light breeze and watched as she tried frantically to pull the blade out of the floor with her teeth.</p>
<p><br/> “Now, who here could possibly be a firstborn son?” Lucifer said smoothly, his lips pulled tight in a humorless, snakelike grin.  “Anyone know?  Anyone?”</p>
<p><br/> Sam struggled furiously in his invisible bonds.  “Don’t!”</p>
<p><br/> “I know what you’re thinking,” he continued.  His voice took on a mocking tone, pretending to be Ash.  “’But Dean cares about me!  How could I ever lose him?’  Well I’ve got news for you, sister: You never had him.  You are what he kills.  You will &lt;always&gt; be what he kills.  He’s kept you around this long because you’re useful to him.  You get that, right?”  His hand tightened into a fist in the air, and her throat constricted, cutting off her airway.  Crowley and Castiel fought to keep her breathing.  “Let’s say, against all probability, you defeat me.  That’s your one purpose in life, right?  The one thing you were ‘made’ to do?  So what happens when that’s gone?  Still think he’s going to want you around?”  He pulled the sword out of her tail and stabbed through her wing, earning a snarl of pain.  “Dean practically radiates lust, yet you’re terrified of anything sexual—Crowley’s fault, no doubt, for giving you those uptight rules.  So tell me, what use will he have for you when this is over?  When you’re no good to him as a monster or a human?”</p>
<p><br/> Ash’s wing tore as she tried to break free of the sword.  &lt;I never planned on making it out of here alive anyway&gt;, she growled to Lucifer.  &lt;But I’m not gonna let anything happen to Dean or Sam&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> “Well…Agree to disagree on that one.”</p>
<p><br/> “Ash—” Dean called out, and Lucifer cut him off, slamming his head back against the car and stunning him.   </p>
<p><br/> “Dean!” Sam shouted, fighting like mad to move against Lucifer’s energy.</p>
<p><br/> Dean opened his eyes, looking dazed.  “Sam…”</p>
<p><br/> Ash ripped her wing free, and the devil’s energy punched her in the throat.  Lucifer was on her instantly, but she shifted into a snake and sank her fangs into his forearm.  He hissed in pain, grabbed her behind her head, and ripped her off of him, tearing his flesh as he did so.  The wound healed, and Ash shifted again, back into a dragon, and they wrestled back and forth.  </p>
<p><br/> “And God struck all first-born in the land of Egypt, from the first-born of King Pharaoh, down to the first-born of a captive in the dungeon!”</p>
<p><br/> Ash felt when it happened.  Something in her soul snapped and broke, and she knew he was gone.  The feeling was so painful that she went limp, and Lucifer pinned her easily, his knee in her long neck and his sword at her throat.  Sam shouted as Dean dropped, lifeless, beside him: Lucifer’s hold on him let up, and he fell to his knees, cradling his brother in his arms.  His screams alternated between obscenities aimed at Lucifer and pleas for Dean to live, gradually becoming an incoherent babble of words and sobs.  The other humans turned their attention to them to see what the commotion was, leaving themselves vulnerable to attack.  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel broke.  Ash felt his energy fade as he withdrew into himself.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Pull yourself together, angel&gt;, Crowley said.  &lt;Or do you want him to die for nothing?&gt;</p>
<p><br/> She felt his energy return, ice cold and angry.  It burned inside her like her own anger and despair.  &lt;You killed him.  You killed my human.  MY.  HUMAN&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> The noise that came out of the dragon started out as a low growl, then built into a screech, culminating in a deafening roar.  A wave of overwhelming emotion passed over the entire hangar, bringing with it all the pent-up energy full of sadness and rage.  Above it all was something else, something even she didn’t know was there, but Castiel and Crowley could feel: Love.  Not the sappy kind of love that the cherubs dispensed, but the real, hardcore, ‘dog jumping into the river to save its owner’s life,’ ‘mom kills bear with bare hands to protect her child,’ ‘I’ll go to Hell to save my brother’ kind of intensive affection.  Every demon within fifty feet of her died screaming in agony.  The rest were just screaming.  </p>
<p><br/> Lucifer was knocked back, surprise flickering across his face before his usual confident expression returned to him.  </p>
<p><br/> “Not bad,” he said, getting to his feet.  He watched Ash right herself and return to a defensive posture, back arched like a cat and teeth bared, her tail flicking behind her.  Ash growled and began stalking around him, looking for an opening.  </p>
<p><br/> “You have a wicked infestation, you know,” he said, eyes narrowing in thought.  “I understand the demon problem—can’t exactly say ‘no’ to him—but the angel perplexes me.  I can’t imagine what would possess you to let him…Well, possess you.  Castiel already has a perfectly good vessel.  Honestly, brother, going after a demon’s sloppy seconds?  It’s so unlike you.”</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Go to Hell.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Sloppy seconds?  Excuse you, but this is a top-of-the-line devil-killing hybrid, you mangy winged rat,&gt; Crowley snapped.  </p>
<p><br/> Lucifer smiled.  “So feisty.”  He extended his arms forward and it felt like he was trying to rip her soul out of her body--a feeling like mentally gritting one’s teeth popped into her mind, and she realized he was trying to rip the &lt;others&gt; out of her body.  She tried to move, but her limbs were locked in place: all she could do was push back against him.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;You took Dean.  You’re not taking anyone else&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer’s power faltered and she leapt forward, breathing fire to obscure his vision.  She felt the bite of his sword in her leg before her front claws connected with his chest, tackling him to the ground.  Her teeth sank into his head and neck, and even though she knew it couldn’t kill him, she still took pleasure in biting down hard until she felt his skull crack.  </p>
<p><br/> The archangel sword plunged up into her gut and she whipped her head back, chunks of flesh stuck to her teeth.  Both dragon and devil howled in pain: Ash released him, staggering back, and Lucifer got to his feet, healing himself.  Castiel was able to stop the bleeding from Ash’s wounds, but it would take more than the grace he had to mend her injuries entirely.  </p>
<p><br/> There was a puff of smoke behind Lucifer, and Rowena appeared.  He spun to face her.</p>
<p><br/> “Red,” Lucifer purred, like a cat who’d just been given a new, obnoxiously squeaky toy and wasn’t sure what to make of it.  “Haven’t I killed you before?”</p>
<p><br/> She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, managing to look embarrassed.  “Have you?  It happens so often, I tend to lose track after a while.  You couldn’t tell me what you’ve done with my son, could you?”</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer smirked.  “Crowley’s not your son.  Not really.  You know that, don’t you?  He hasn’t been your son since the day he took that name.”</p>
<p><br/> Rowena drew herself up.  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand a mother’s love.”</p>
<p><br/> That earned a raised eyebrow.  “You tried to kill him.  Multiple times.”</p>
<p><br/> “Like I said, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”</p>
<p><br/> His eye twitched, and he doubled over, dropping his sword.  “Aargh!  What—what did you do?!”</p>
<p><br/> Rowena smiled brightly.  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, dearie.”  She darted forward to grab the blade, but he reached out incredibly fast, grabbing her by the throat.</p>
<p><br/> Ash snarled, darting forward and catching him from behind.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;I don’t think so&gt;, Crowley hissed.  &lt;If anyone gets to kill that bitch, it’s me&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer released Rowena and grappled with the dragon, rolling them across the concrete as they fought for control.  Something wasn’t going quite right for him: Pain struck him randomly throughout his vessel, but he could feel it deep down in his own essence.  It made him clumsy, allowing Ash to get several good bites in before he could heal himself.  </p>
<p><br/> Rowena ran to Sam’s side, kneeling next to him as he huddled over Dean’s body.  “Is he…?”</p>
<p><br/> Sam nodded, tears sliding down his cheeks.  </p>
<p><br/> She put her hand on his shoulder.  “I know this sounds heartless, love, but there’ll be plenty of time for that later.  There’s a war on right now; you need to get up.”</p>
<p><br/> He looked up at her in surprise.  It was, without question, the gentlest and sincerest she’d ever been.  The world was &lt;definitely&gt; ending.</p>
<p><br/> “He’ll be alright here,” she said, smiling encouragingly.  “Come on; time to save the world.  Just another day at work for you, right?”  As she helped Sam to his feet, she glanced around, searching.  “Where’s your angel, anyway?  I thought he’d be with you.”</p>
<p><br/> “He was.  Crowley said they both needed to—to &lt;possess&gt; Ash,” Sam said, choking the word out.  </p>
<p><br/> Rowena turned to look at the dragon fighting Lucifer, eyes widening.  “Fergus is in &lt;that&gt;?”  </p>
<p><br/> “What did you do to Lucifer?” Sam asked.</p>
<p><br/> Rowena smiled.  “I’ve been working on that little spell for years.  It won’t last forever, of course: once he figures it out, he’ll destroy the hex bags.  One of them is just a regular pain spell to set him back a bit.  The other…Well, in theory it should bind an angel’s grace so he can’t use it.  Could buy us a little bit of time.”</p>
<p><br/> Lucifer punched Ash, sending her crashing across the floor, and Gabriel appeared in front of him, taking the next hit.  The archangels clashed, and in his hexed state Lucifer let his brother get a solid strike on him, impaling his leg.  Lucifer snarled and threw Gabriel off, the blade ripping his flesh as it left him.  Ash ran at him again, and when he raised his sword to strike she shifted, skidding under the blade as a hellhound and smashing into his legs, throwing him off-balance.  </p>
<p><br/> “Demons!” Rowena announced, pointing to a nearby hole in the wall.  A fresh wave of Lucifer’s foot soldiers approached, and the surviving humans and angels turned their attention to the new fight.  A familiar snarling sound from an empty space ahead of him alerted Sam to a new threat.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Shit&gt;.  “Hellhounds!”</p>
<p><br/> Ash looked up at the sound of Sam’s voice.  The humans wouldn’t be able to handle hellhounds on top of everything else: she needed to help them.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Moose is a big boy, he can take care of himself&gt;, Crowley said, forcing her attention back to Lucifer and dodging a blow.  &lt;You kill this one, all of it ends&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Angels can see hellhounds&gt;, Castiel reminded her.  &lt;They’ll protect our friends&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> “You bitch!” Lucifer snarled, suddenly clear about what Rowena had done.  He snapped his fingers and the hex bags she’d hidden on him caught fire, breaking the spells.  “That’s how you want to do this?  Fine.  No more holding back.”</p>
<p><br/> Every angel in the hangar disintegrated except for Gabriel and Castiel.  Evidently they were too much fun to get rid of just yet.  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel, for lack of a more apt description, flipped his shit.  It took all of Crowley’s strength to stop him from flying out of Ash and attacking Lucifer head-on: Ash felt her muscles spasm as the angel and demon fought internally, letting Lucifer slice a decent hole in her shoulder.  The pain finally caught Castiel’s attention, and he focused back on the task at hand.  </p>
<p><br/> As far as the humans were concerned, that was when everything really went to Hell.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/> There were a few angels still fighting outside the hangar that hadn’t been killed, and they flew in to assist Sam and the other hunters, but it wasn’t enough.  Ash had wiped out many of the demons in the hangar just a moment ago, yet now it was like that never happened—there were millions of souls in Hell, and Lucifer had brought all of them out to play.  Rowena managed to hex a few to fight on her side, but there weren’t enough hex bags in the world to make a dent on the army before them.  The group quickly ran through the last of their ammo, leaving them only their angel blades to fight with.  </p>
<p><br/> More hunters ran inside, most already injured and all of them soaked to the bone.  A hellhound had ripped a chunk out of Garth’s shoulder; Eileen had stopped a knife with the palm of her hand; Charlie had been thrown backwards and had her thigh impaled on a piece of rebar.  And everyone had been tossed around, choked, stabbed, and generally gotten the shit beaten out of them, but they were still standing.  </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel and Ash weren’t faring much better.  Lucifer flew up into the sky, the rain and hail ignoring his vessel but pelting down on Gabriel.  Ash shifted back into a dragon to catch up to them, and her large surface area was like a magnet for golf-ball sized hailstones.  She felt Crowley’s power swell, and an energy barrier formed across her back and wings, protecting her from the weather.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;Crowley&gt;, Castiel said.  &lt;We have to end this now.  The humans won’t survive much longer&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> Crowley sighed inside her head.  &lt;Fine.  Are you paying attention, Ash?&gt;</p>
<p><br/> She dipped under Lucifer to catch Gabriel after a particularly nasty punch.  &lt;Yes, Crowley&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;No matter what happens, I need you to keep fighting.  Always.  Do you understand?  You keep fighting until he’s dead.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;What’s going to—&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Keep.  Fighting.  That’s an order, Ash.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Yes.  I understand.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Castiel.  When we come around to attack again, I need you to touch her soul.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> Ash felt the angel’s trepidation.  </p>
<p><br/>&lt;I see.  And you will do the same?&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Yes.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;But won’t that destroy you?&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Crowley?&gt; Ash thought with alarm.</p>
<p><br/> He shrugged mentally. &lt; I never liked being King that much, anyway.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Crowley!&gt;  Ash halted mid-air, but Crowley took control, forcing her up and around to make another pass at Lucifer.  The devil got the upper hand against Gabriel, slicing off his sword arm and grazing his chest with the blade, not enough to kill him but enough to open him up.  Gabriel plummeted back to Earth.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;Keep fighting.  Bring her back&gt;, Crowley’s voice said.  </p>
<p><br/>Ash was blown back by another attack from Lucifer, his power like tiny teeth eating away at her scales.  </p>
<p><br/>&lt;Ready, Feathers?  In three…two…one!&gt;</p>
<p> She felt like a phone that had been on Low Battery its whole life that had just been plugged into a charger.  Everything tingled.  Her heart sped up, then slowed way down.  Her breathing increased rapidly, then stopped entirely, but she felt fine.  She didn’t need to breathe anymore.  Ash shot forward, feeling the world click together as she released her power outward toward Lucifer.  He brought his arms up, shooting his own grace back at her, and the two forces collided with an enormous clap of thunder.  </p>
<p><br/> Lucifer gritted his teeth, eyes glowing, as he fought back against the force of the three combined.  Ash felt her scales and skin peeling away in layers, but she couldn’t break off the attack now.  She started to lose vision in her right eye, and she could feel her skin burning away.  Remaining airborne was becoming increasingly difficult as the Devil’s power sliced through her wings.</p>
<p><br/> “I’m not going to kill you, Ash,” Lucifer hissed.  “I’m going to free you.  You’ve been under Crowley’s control your whole life.  Now you listen to those Winchesters.  Isn’t it time you started thinking for yourself?  It will take time to see it—the brainwashing, the conditioning.  You’ll be angry at first, when I kill him, but you’ll understand in time.  That’s how fucked this universe is—you’re being controlled by a demon!  I can fix it.  We can make a better version.  Same with Sam and Dean.  You’ll never even miss the old ones.”</p>
<p><br/> At the mention of Dean, Ash’s anger flared, and her energy surged.  For the first time since Creation, Lucifer’s confidence wavered.  </p>
<p><br/> “Ash.  You won’t survive this,” he warned.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Neither will you.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> “You don’t want to do this.”</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Shut up, assbutt&gt;, Castiel said.</p>
<p><br/> The sense of being peeled alive increased, but so did their energy.  Ash’s vision went white as her power intensified, and she was hyper aware of Crowley: His mangled soul clung to hers, feeding power into her, but with each passing second more of it was stripped away.  The pain wasn’t so much physical as it was emotional: As each molecule dissolved, the bits of him that were left were reminded of his worst memories, both on Earth and in Hell, like he was being tortured in the pits all over again.  She could feel him dying as if she herself was dying, and if he hadn’t ordered her to keep going she would have stopped and found a way to force him to stop.  But she had to obey him.  Crowley told her to fight, so damn it she was going to fight, and if it killed her then it would be no less than she had expected, anyway.  </p>
<p><br/> “You’re going to lose, Crowley,” Lucifer taunted.</p>
<p><br/> &lt;It’s funny&gt;, Crowley shot back.  &lt;Even when I lose, I win&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> The last bits of Crowley tore away from her soul, and it felt like she’d been ripped open and turned inside out.  In a flash of white light, Lucifer broke:  He screamed, and his skin cracked like broken glass before shattering, his grace dissipating into the ether.  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel released her soul.  She could feel his energy waning: He must have used just about all his grace on her.  Completely drained, Ash’s wings folded and she plummeted to the ground, breaking the concrete floor upon impact.  The battle paused upon Lucifer’s destruction, and all eyes were turned toward the space he’d previously occupied.</p>
<p> Gabriel ran over to greet her, arm reattached but his other wounds still open.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash realized there was something wrong with the air.  Was Lucifer still alive?  The air was vibrating around her; maybe it was something to do with his grace.  And…She could hear people talking, but not the people who were near her.  They were quiet, far away voices, and they sounded confused.  </p>
<p><br/> &lt;What’s happening?&gt; </p>
<p><br/> “Heaven has fallen,” Gabriel announced.  </p>
<p><br/> Right: Angels were the batteries that kept Heaven running, and without them all the souls in Heaven would become lost ghosts on Earth.  What was more concerning, however, was that Heaven wasn’t the only place the angels kept going.</p>
<p><br/> “There are only a dozen or so angels left alive, thanks to Lucifer.  And now that Lucifer’s gone, none of us has the mojo to keep things going…”</p>
<p><br/> The ground shook, and the air filled with unearthly shrieks and howls.   </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel groaned.  “And here comes Hell, right on schedule.”</p>
<p><br/> There are things in Hell that are worse than demons.  Things that Lucifer had experimented with before he made demons; things God decided were too unholy to roam the Earth; things that gave demons nightmares.  And now they were all coming to the land of the living.  The surviving humans and angels clustered together nervously.  The surviving demons formed their own clusters, muttering nervously to themselves and gripping their weapons tightly.  A few tried to smoke out and retreat to Hell, only to rebound back to their meat-suits when they discovered there was no Hell to return to.  </p>
<p><br/> “We need to restore the angels &lt;now&gt;,” Gabriel said.  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel exited Ash’s body and returned to his own vessel.  She felt even more drained than before, and all she could think about was how Crowley was gone.  But Gabriel wasn’t going to let her go that easy.</p>
<p><br/> “Come on, kid.  Move your big, scaly ass.”  The archangel prodded her tail with his foot.  “Ash!” he snapped, when she didn’t respond.  “I didn’t come out of retirement just to watch the world go to Hell.  If that’s what I’d wanted, I would’ve stayed where I was and saved myself a lot of trouble!”</p>
<p><br/> Ash growled and pushed herself to her feet, swinging her head around to glare at him.  One of her eyes had melted in its socket, and the surrounding area was pink and oozing.  </p>
<p><br/> “I need you human-shaped; let’s go.  You don’t want Hell getting cozy up here.”</p>
<p><br/> She hissed and tried to shift, but it was like trying to lift a car.  Her body just wasn’t going to give her anything else.  </p>
<p><br/> “Angels!” Gabriel called.  </p>
<p><br/> The dozen or so survivors gathered around them, including Castiel.</p>
<p><br/> “I know you’re all exhausted, but I need a little favor.  Just a little energy from each of you should be enough.”</p>
<p><br/> One by one, the angels stepped forward and touched the dragon, using a tiny bit of Grace to revitalize her.  It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give her the strength to shift into a human and not immediately collapse.</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel made a circle about as wide as Sam was tall out of demon blood by slicing dead demons open and dragging them around.  Inside the circle, he drew an Enochian symbol using more blood.  Ash’s feet tingled as she stepped into the circle, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose.  </p>
<p><br/> “If you are not an angel, you do not set foot in this circle,” Gabriel warned the spectators.  “I’m not sure what will happen, but it won’t be pretty.”</p>
<p><br/> The angels drew closer, but even they remained outside.  The humans came forward with more caution, hanging farther back.  Sam stayed by his brother’s side, unwilling to leave his body behind.</p>
<p><br/> Ash, Gabriel, and Castiel were alone in the center of the circle.  Gabriel produced a regular angel blade, property of a now-deceased angel, and Ash stepped back instinctively, bumping into Cas.  </p>
<p><br/> “I hate to tell you this, kid,” Gabriel said, “But this is really gonna…What’s the phrase?”</p>
<p><br/> “Kill me,” Ash guessed, flinching as Castiel gripped her shoulder.</p>
<p><br/> “What?  No.  You might wish it did, though.  ‘Hurt like a son of a bitch,’ that’s what I was trying to say.”  He gave her an apologetic smile.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash noticed that the circle was devoid of spirits, but around them there were clusters of apparitions.  Some of the angels were interacting with them with the uncomfortable air of a customer service representative who had received a customer complaint but the manager wasn’t available.  A few damned souls approached the angels as well, trying to plead their cases or just find out what in Hell was going on.  Distant howls and unearthly snarls drifted across the hangar, sending shivers down the spines of all its inhabitants.</p>
<p><br/> “You are the only being that can bring them back,” Gabriel explained.  “Lucifer was telling the truth about that part.  The not-so-fun bit is that I have to sort of…Unlock your potential, by cutting symbols into you with this.”  He held up the knife, as if she could have forgotten about it.  “A &lt;lot&gt; of symbols.”  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel glanced around at the surrounding group and narrowed his eyes.  He snapped his fingers and a bra and underwear appeared on Ash.  Gabriel gave him a questioning look and he shrugged, nodding to the crowd as if to say, &lt;She can’t save the world naked in front of other humans&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> The archangel turned his attention back to her.  “I’m going to ask Castiel to hold you, because you &lt;will&gt; move, and every symbol has to be precise.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash shivered, and found that she couldn’t stop.  She was trembling like a piece of paper tied to a fan, which was ridiculous—she’d been through this before.   </p>
<p><br/> It had been one of the worst training sessions she’d ever experienced.  Crowley didn’t know exactly how resurrecting the angels worked, but Agnes had included some helpful drawings in her book, and carving up the Nephilim was evidently part of it.  He’d taken his angel blade and carved her up methodically, drawing nonsensical squiggles across her skin.  Usually when he tortured people, he seemed cheerful about it, or if they’d done something nasty to him, angry; but with Ash he just seemed miserable.  She hadn’t realized it at the time, but he’d been struck by everything she felt while he hurt her, and really &lt;was&gt; miserable.  He’d said that he didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to in order to help her, and she would understand someday.  &lt;And he’s gone now&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> “Ash?” Castiel questioned.</p>
<p><br/> She swallowed a lump in her throat and sniffed.  She needed to show the angels she was strong, that Crowley hadn’t wasted his time on her.  She could do this.  </p>
<p><br/> “Okay,” she said, much quieter than she intended.</p>
<p><br/> “It’ll be easier if you kneel,” Gabriel said gently.  “I’ll start on your back; I think that will be the least painful.  Castiel, could you please face her?  You can hold her shoulders.  I think that will work.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash sank to her knees, and Castiel knelt facing her, their knees touching.  He placed his hands on her shoulders, gripping them tightly.  Ash twitched when Gabriel touched her back, thinking his hand was the blade.  She tried to take deep breaths, remembering what had helped when Crowley had done it.</p>
<p><br/> “I’m going to start right where my hand is,” Gabriel said.  “Are you ready?”</p>
<p><br/> She nodded, trying to keep her back still.  “Yes.”</p>
<p><br/> When she felt the blade bite through her skin, she hissed in pain, wishing she could put on a braver face and knowing there was no point in trying now.  She bowed her head and closed her eyes, and felt Castiel’s forehead touch her own.  </p>
<p><br/> “You can do this,” he said.</p>
<p><br/> “Cas—will…Will it work on demons?  Can you resurrect a demon like an angel?”  She whimpered again as the angel blade twisted, sending a jolt of pain down her spine.</p>
<p><br/> “Why would you want to resurrect a demon?” Gabriel sniffed from behind her.  “Oh, right—sorry, I forget the two of you were…Close.”  He thought for a while as he cut the pattern into her skin.  “I suppose it can’t hurt anything to try.”  He muttered something in Enochian that Ash didn’t quite catch, and the sigil burned on her skin, complete.  “Okay,” he said cheerfully, “One down, 41 to go.”</p>
<p><br/> “There are 42 sigils?” Castiel asked in surprise.</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel nodded.  “I know Dad was fond of seven, and ten, but I think his favorite number was really 42.  Comes up an awful lot.”</p>
<p><br/> “It really does,” Cas said thoughtfully.</p>
<p><br/> The blade moved to her lower back, which was less pleasant.  Gabriel instructed her to bow her back slightly, and she rested her head in the crook of Castiel’s shoulder.  At least with her face hidden from view, she could react more openly to the pain.  Cries and whimpers escaped her throat, muffled by the angel’s trench-coat, and the fabric absorbed the tears that now streamed freely down her face.  Even though the cuts were relatively shallow, it felt like Gabriel was gouging the knife straight down into her soul.  Freaking angel blade. </p>
<p><br/> &lt;Crowley, please let this work&gt;.  </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel finished the work on her back, sealing each sigil with Enochian words.  “I need to do your legs,” he said.  “Castiel, you’ll need to hold her ankles.”</p>
<p><br/> She gave Cas a pained look.</p>
<p><br/> “You can do this.  Crowley knew you could.”</p>
<p><br/> Damn him for bringing up Crowley.  Of course she would do it; Crowley had ordered her to keep fighting, and this was, in a way, part of that fight.  She laid down and crossed her forearms to make a sort of pillow for her head, tensingwhen Castiel grabbed her ankles.  Gabriel started working on her right thigh and worked his way down to her calf, then carved into the sole of her foot.  Then he repeated the process on her left leg.  When he was finished, Ash was shivering, coated in blood and sweat.  </p>
<p><br/> “Roll over.  Carefully,” Gabriel warned.</p>
<p><br/> Moving pulled at the edges of the cuts, making them burn.  There was a temporary sense of relief when her skin met the cool concrete, but it didn’t last long.  Gabriel started working from her feet up this time: Castiel held her ankles until he got to her waist, then moved up to hold her shoulders down.  Gabriel had to call in a second angel, Anael, to hold her ankles again because she jerked too much when he cut into the flesh above her hip bones.  </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel worked quickly but carefully, concentrating on his work and not saying much except for the Enochian phrases that seemed to activate the symbols.  Occasionally he would tell Ash to hold her breath, or instruct Castiel and Anael to brace her for a particularly nasty cut.  When he cut into the skin over her abdominal muscles, it felt like she was being disemboweled.  She choked back a scream, which resulted in actually choking, and they had to let her sit up to breathe. </p>
<p><br/> “Take this,” Gabriel said, producing a thin leather wallet.  “Bite down on it; it’ll help.  Humans use it as a coping mechanism when undergoing surgery without anesthesia.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash turned the wallet over in her hands, wondering if Gabriel really knew what he was talking about; but Anael nodded in confirmation, so she stuck it between her teeth and lay back down.  Castiel put his weight on her shoulders, and she felt Anael’s hands around her ankles again.  </p>
<p><br/> “Ready?”</p>
<p><br/> She nodded, and he cut into the skin that covered her ribcage.  She bit down hard enough on the wallet to feel the hide tear.</p>
<p>Gabriel finished with her chest.  It felt like her lungs had been filled with ice water, set on fire, and then crushed.  Her heart thumped erratically, and every few beats she would get a random pinching feeling, like she was having a heart attack.</p>
<p><br/> “Arms,” Gabriel said, and Anael moved to hold her wrists one at a time.  He carved symbols down the length of her arms and onto both the back and palm of her hands; Ash realized she’d been clenching her fists a lot, and would no longer be able to do so.  </p>
<p><br/> “Almost done,” he said, wiping blood off the blade for the umpteenth time.  “Just the neck and head, and we’ll be ready for the ritual.”</p>
<p><br/> “Neck?” she replied in alarm.</p>
<p><br/> “Won’t cut that deep,” Gabriel said.  “Just hold as still as you can.”</p>
<p><br/> The blade cut into her neck, burning her and making her feel like she was choking.  She knew she was starting to panic at not being able to breathe, but she had to stay still or risk ruining the symbols.  &lt;For Crowley&gt;, she thought.  She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down hard on the wallet, focusing on the air moving in and out of her nose.  &lt;You’re still breathing.  You’re breathing.  Fuck, I don’t know if I can take this anymore; it feels like he’s chopping my damn head off.  Crowley, please come back; I don’t know how to do this without you.  I don’t know how to be tough without you&gt;.  </p>
<p><br/> Gabriel moved on to her face, thankfully avoiding her eyes.  Not so thankfully, the power radiating from the symbols made it feel like her skin was melting off.  </p>
<p><br/> “That’s it; we’re done.”  Gabriel set the blade aside and wiped his bloody hands on his pants.</p>
<p><br/> All three angels helped her to sit up, and Gabriel instructed her to kneel again, sitting back on her heels.  He adopted the same pose facing her, their knees almost touching, and Castiel and Anael exited the circle.  Ash tried to ignore the blood dripping down her body, but it was difficult to avoid when it was dripping into her eyes.  It still felt like someone was crushing her lungs and neck, and a million little venomous insects were eating her alive.  &lt;Focus.  Crowley told you to keep fighting&gt;.</p>
<p><br/> Gabriel held his hands up in front of him, palms facing forward, and Ash copied him, pressing their hands together.  The blood on her hands squished and made them stick together.  </p>
<p><br/> “We have to call each angel individually.  They may not respond right away, and that’s fine; it will take them a while to wake up and leave the Empty.”</p>
<p><br/>“Can—Can I say her name first?”</p>
<p><br/>Gabriel cocked his head to the side; after a moment of confusion, he smiled.  “Sure, kid.  Repeat after me.”  He began speaking in Enochian, which, roughly translated, amounted to: “Awaken, Marian, angel of the Lord, and return to His service.”  </p>
<p><br/>“Awaken, Marian, angel of the Lord, and return to His service.”  Her breath caught as all the cuts on her body burned like brands.  “How do we know if it worked?”</p>
<p><br/>“We won’t; not right away, at least.  It could take anywhere from minutes to days for them to resurrect, and there’s no telling where they’ll turn up.  But when enough angels have been created, Heaven and Hell will…Reopen, if you will, and we’ll be able to return the souls to Heaven and the…Other things to Hell.”</p>
<p><br/>They repeated the process for hundreds of angels.  It took hours, and each time, Ash thought for sure she wouldn’t be able to do one more.  She began to create her own mantra between each angel-summoning: “Awaken, Crowley, demon King of Hell, and return.”  Gabriel was starting to give her a pitying look, as if she were Simba trying to get Mufasa to get back up after the stampede.</p>
<p><br/> There were three names that Ash would not say.  Crowley had told her never to resurrect them, and though he’d never told her why, she’d always been fairly certain they were the angels who had killed her mother.  When she refused to say the names for Gabriel and he merely nodded in understanding, she knew that they were the ones. Over all, they managed to resurrect 223 angels before Ash blacked out, slumping forward mid-sentence.  Gabriel caught her and lowered her gently to the floor, uttering a phrase to stop the ritual.  </p>
<p><br/> “Castiel.  A hand, if you’d be so kind?”  Gabriel had used up most of his available grace on the resurrection.  He knew Cas didn’t have a whole lot of mojo left either—none of them did—but at least Castiel was still standing upright without bags under his eyes.  “Can you heal her?”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel almost passed out trying, as did Anael.  The battle with Lucifer had taken too much out of them, and the symbols that covered her body were powerful and resistant to Grace.  They were able to stop most of the bleeding and give her enough energy to wake up, but there wasn’t much else they could do for her.  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel draped his trenchcoat around her and scooped her up.  Half-dried blood began seeping through the fabric.  Her eyes fluttered open.</p>
<p><br/> “Crowley?”</p>
<p><br/> “Castiel,” he corrected her.  </p>
<p><br/> “Cas.”  She blinked, trying to focus bleary eyes.  “What happened?”</p>
<p><br/> “You passed out.  We tried to heal you, but I’m afraid we couldn’t do much.”</p>
<p><br/> She tried to shift her position so she could see around the hangar, but it was too painful to move.  She rolled her head to the side instead.  “Is…Did I bring back enough?”<br/> Castiel nodded.  “Heaven and Hell are open again.  My brothers and sisters will work to restore everything to its rightful place.  You’ve served your purpose, Ash; he’d be proud of you.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash blushed, but it was impossible to tell under all the blood.  She turned her face in to his chest, both feeling proud of herself and terrible at the same time.  “I thought it would work.  I thought I could bring him back if I just wanted it enough…”</p>
<p><br/> Castiel bit back a reply about Crowley being a demon, and not something that should be brought back.  After all, who was he to judge?  He’d worked with Crowley before.  And, to be honest, having Crowley in charge of Hell had been beneficial.  Cas knew he could defeat the demon if he had to, but he had been more valuable alive than dead.  He’d run Hell like a business, focusing on integrity and sustainability.  The majority of Heaven and Earth’s demon-related problems over the last few years had been caused by his adversaries, other demons who wanted him off the throne.  There was certainly a large faction of old-school demons who believed more along Lucifer’s line of thinking, that Hell should rise up and take control over everything, and they hated Crowley’s belief that Hell should stay in Hell where it belonged.  After all, if every soul on Earth was tortured, who would make the good scotch?</p>
<p><br/> “I know,” he said.  “I need you to do one more thing for me.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash nodded against his shoulder.  </p>
<p><br/> “With Lucifer gone, and Crowley de—” Cas felt Ash tense up, and rethought his words.  “Crowley…Not here,” he amended, “The demons need someone in charge.  They’ll fight each other tooth and claw over a power vacuum, and we all know how well that turns out.  I need you to take charge.  Just for now.”</p>
<p><br/> “&lt;Me&gt;?  But I’m not—"</p>
<p><br/> “You killed Lucifer, and that makes you top dog, as far as Hell is concerned.  Talk to them; tell them what to do.”  He set her down feet-first and let her take a moment to gain her balance.  </p>
<p><br/> She moved slowly over to the mass of demons that had gathered after the fight.  Many had already fled, hoping to find someplace that was safe from both angels and the Things that had been thrown up by Hell.  Those who were still present, remained out of morbid curiosity about what would happen next.  As Ash approached them, they fell silent and turned toward her.  </p>
<p><br/> A few demons toward the front knelt and bowed their heads.  The demons around them decided that wasn’t a bad idea and followed suit.  ‘Always suck up to the biggest Bad’ was Hell’s unofficial survivalist motto.  </p>
<p><br/> Elbows were jabbed into those who weren’t paying attention, and slowly the ranks all began to kneel.  A few grumbled under their breath, keeping their chins up to scowl at her.  And some refused to bow altogether.</p>
<p><br/> One demon started to say: “Well I don’t see why we should bow down to a—”</p>
<p><br/> Ash’s anger flared.  She didn’t even &lt;want&gt; to be in charge of them—even Crowley had been miserable most of the time he was King, and he &lt;was&gt; one of them.  She just needed them to shut up and pay attention for five minutes.  All she wanted was to find a way to get Crowley back, and Dean—shit, Dean was really dead, wasn’t he?  </p>
<p><br/>The disgruntled demon vanished in a gritty ‘poof.’  Evidently, Ash’s emotional mojo was still on point even if her physical abilities were limited.</p>
<p><br/> There was a collective intake of breath from the others, and every last one dropped to their knees, heads bowed low.  There would be time to disagree and overthrow later: For now, surviving was more important.</p>
<p><br/> Ash wracked her brain for a familiar name.  “Is the demon Meg here?”  Meg had never seen eye to eye with Crowley, and they had in fact tried to kill each other several times, but that was par for the course in Hell.  Ash knew that Meg was clever and wouldn’t die easily, plus she understood concepts like ‘Hell will continue to exist only as long as Earth and Heaven do as well,’ and that more gains could be made through savvy business deals rather than mindless slaughter.  </p>
<p><br/> A demon blinked into space in front of her, part of her scalp hanging off and one eye swollen shut.  “Here,” she said, then added, “your majesty.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash snorted at the title.  “Meg.  You remember me?”</p>
<p><br/> Meg peered at her through her one good eye.  Half her mouth curved up in a grin; the other half appeared to be stuck.  “You’re the little girl who made the demons cry.  You made them remember their mommies.”  She laughed, then spat a mouth full of blood onto the floor behind her.  “Crowley’s little princess.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash focused on the demon inside the vessel: She was tired and beaten down, but still bright with…Well, with whatever it was that demons had that qualified as ‘life.’  Still just as feisty as she’d been when she’d tried to assassinate Crowley many years ago.  </p>
<p><br/> “Let’s make a deal.”</p>
<p><br/> The demon’s eyebrows shot up.  There was a flash of humor in her eye.  “Let’s.”</p>
<p><br/> “I need your help.  Every demon and hellhound on the planet goes back to Hell, and you take all the Hellish things that escaped back with you.  In return, I leave you in charge.”</p>
<p><br/>Meg’s smile widened.  </p>
<p><br/>Ash stood up straighter.  “…With the understanding that, ultimately, &lt;I&gt; call the shots.  I killed Lucifer, I’m Crowley’s…Next of kin; I say how this works.  And as long as Hell works, I won’t say a word.  Deal?” </p>
<p><br/>  “Deal.” Meg stared at the Nephilim for a moment, like she was playing the next hundred or so years out in her head.  Finally, she cleared her throat and turned back to the crowd.  </p>
<p><br/> “Hear that?  I’m your new queen, bitches.”</p>
<p><br/> “All hail Queen Meg!” a bright soldier shouted.</p>
<p><br/> Meg’s eye honed in on him.  “You’re quick on the uptake.  What’s your name?”</p>
<p><br/> The demon moved so that he was in front of her, and knelt.  “Severus, Your Majesty.”</p>
<p><br/> Her eyebrow raised up.  “Really?  Harry Potter?”</p>
<p><br/> The demon looked confused.  “Majesty?”</p>
<p><br/> “How long have you been a demon, Severus?”</p>
<p><br/> “135 years, Majesty.”</p>
<p><br/> “Ah.  Never mind, then.  Severus, how would you like to be my right-hand man?”</p>
<p><br/> Severus looked up at Meg, and knew these things: The closer one was to the ruler of Hell, the more power one had and could acquire.  Also, the closer one was to the ruler of Hell, the faster one was likely to die.  Also, refusing the ruler’s offer at this time would result in an instant death.  </p>
<p><br/> “Of course, Your Majesty.”</p>
<p><br/> “Right.  All you lot, we’re going home.  Let’s round up the stragglers and the bitey little nightmare thingies.”</p>
<p><br/> The demons vanished.  </p>
<p><br/> Castiel appeared beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder.  “You did well.  Come on; let’s get you home.”</p>
<p><br/> She turned to follow him, and stopped: Dean’s corpse was lying on the ground, and Sam was back beside him, preparing to transport the body back to the bunker.  </p>
<p><br/> “You can bring him back, right?” Ash said to the angel.</p>
<p><br/> Castiel’s brow furrowed, and he frowned at his friend’s lifeless form.  “…Of course.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam looked up at them.  “Why do I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming?”</p>
<p><br/> “But…” Cas sighed.  “I need to find him first.  We’ll have to wait for stability to be fully restored to Heaven and Hell before I can even begin to look.”</p>
<p><br/> Sam cleared his throat.  “What if he’s not in either?”</p>
<p><br/> “What are you talking about?”</p>
<p><br/> “A while ago, Death—well, Billie, she was just a reaper then—told me they were done bringing us back.  She said they were going to toss us into the Empty next time one of us died.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash brightened.  “Oh.  That’s good, right?  You can just go to the Empty and—”</p>
<p><br/> “I cannot just ‘go to the Empty,’” Cas sighed.  “Not without dying.  And finding a human soul there—it’s infinite.  You can’t even begin to imagine the scale of it.”</p>
<p><br/> Ash’s misplaced optimism deflated.  “What do we do?”</p>
<p><br/> “The same thing we always do: Research,” Cas said.  “We’ll find a way.” He left Ash to walk on her own and bent down to help Sam carry the body.  </p>
<p><br/> That didn’t sound promising.  Surely there was a better way?  Ash had healed him before: bringing someone back from the dead was just the ultimate healing, wasn’t it?<br/>She sank down next to his corpse before Sam and Cas had a chance to lift him up, and put her hands on his chest.  He was still warm.</p>
<p><br/> “Ash…”</p>
<p><br/> “It can’t hurt to try,” she said.  “What’s the worst thing that can happen?  I fail?  It’s not like I can make him more dead!”</p>
<p><br/> “Just…Be careful.  You don’t know what the consequences will be to &lt;you&gt;,” Castiel warned.</p>
<p><br/> Ash shook her head.  She wasn’t worried about that.  She’d been expecting to die today, anyway.</p>
<p><br/> She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of Dean’s soul, how it was fierce and bright and righteous, full of pain and anger and love.  She knew that part of her soul looked like his, the same way that a lot of it looked like Crowley’s and a little looked like Sam.  There was even a little bit that looked like Cas’s grace.  But all she needed now was the bit that loved Dean.  </p>
<p><br/> Ash let her power flow into his body.  Nothing happened at first, so she pushed harder, until she felt like she was about to snap in half.  Castiel gasped, and she opened her eyes: Golden light was flowing from her hands into Dean.  It felt like part of her soul was being torn away, but she couldn’t stop now.  </p>
<p><br/> “Stop.  Now!” Castiel ordered.</p>
<p><br/> She ignored him.  </p>
<p><br/> The angel grabbed her shoulder, trying to pull her away, but the connection she had with Dean wasn’t that easily broken.  “Ash!  It’s destroying your soul!  You have to stop!”</p>
<p><br/> &lt;Don’t need a soul,&gt; Ash thought, gritting her teeth.  &lt;Angels don’t have them.  Neither do demons.  Crowley did fine without his.&gt;</p>
<p><br/> “Ash!”  Cas’s grip tightened.  “We’ll find another w—”</p>
<p><br/>She could feel the pain Dean held onto his entire life, all the repressed anger and grief.  And then she felt nothing.  Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped over, unconscious.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17: The End of the World, Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Post-Apocalypse.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Castiel was not a happy angel.</p><p><br/> He should have been, given that Lucifer was gone.  Another Apocalypse had been averted and the world was once again safe from supernatural destruction.</p><p><br/> Except…It wasn’t that simple.  It never was.</p><p><br/> He was happy to see many of his resurrected brothers and sisters: They began working together immediately to ensure that every soul was put back where it was supposed to be, which was no small task.  There were a few angels that just had to make things difficult—some of them had actually been killed by Castiel in the past—and he wished they’d stayed in the Empty.  They bickered about chains of command; what sort of presence was needed to clean up on Earth; even suggested invading Hell while the demons were weak and distracted.  Some saw the Nephilim as a threat, despite the fact that she’d just resurrected them, and wondered aloud about wiping her off the playing field.  Cas advised them that there was still a vacant spot in the Empty for each of them if they didn’t like the way he was running things.</p><p><br/> And Cas was running things.  He hadn’t meant to—it just sort of &lt;happened&gt;, and everyone had gone along with it.  Gabriel had vanished almost immediately after the battle, convinced he’d done his part and paid his dues, and anxious to avoid the impending family reunion.  As the last surviving archangel (that wasn’t insane and locked in the Cage, at least), Gabriel should have been in charge: Without him, a power vacuum opened up, and Cas was sucked up in it.  </p><p><br/> He was exhausted, his Grace almost completely drained.  His clothes were covered in blood, much of it belonging to Ash or demons he’d killed.  He stank of sulfur and blood and an acrid smell that reminded him of freshly dead bodies.  He should be resting in the bunker; giving himself time to restore his Grace; but here he was, trying to sort fifty-four John Smiths into their proper Heavens.  </p><p><br/> Then there was the hellhound.</p><p><br/> No one knew how it had gotten in, and no one really knew how to get it out, either.  It had started out on an angry rampage, tearing through Naomi’s filing system before breaking into the Heaven of a fifteen-year-old boy whose Make-a-Wish program had sent him to space camp. </p><p><br/> The hellhound had not enjoyed space camp.</p><p><br/> Three angels chased the thing in and out of multiple Heavens until it happened to collide with Castiel, who was busy trying to recruit more angels to catch it.  He thought it was going to rip his arm off, and he knew he didn’t have the strength to smite it.  Bracing himself for the attack, he was surprised when the thing started licking his face.  <br/> It recognized him from when he’d worked with Crowley.</p><p><br/> Hooray.</p><p><br/> Now it was following him like a pet, its tongue lolling out of its jaws between elongated fangs, a dopey puppy smile plastered on a face that made demons run for cover.  If Cas ignored it for too long, it would nudge his hand and he would pat its head, cringing at the feel of hot, sticky skin under sparse, coarse fur.  It was like petting a burn victim that was still on fire.  One of his sisters had offered to stab the beast, but he couldn’t bring himself to let her do it.  Yes, it was a hideous creature from Hell stuck in Heaven; but hadn’t there been enough death today?  It’s not like it was hurting anybody at the moment.</p><p><br/> “Castiel!” </p><p><br/> An angel dressed in the traditional battle-white of a soldier approached and saluted him, eyeing the hellhound as he did.  The beast growled at him, and Castiel put a hand on its back. </p><p><br/> “Ramiel.  You don’t have to salute me.  I’m not your commander.”</p><p><br/> “Yes sir,” Ramiel said, firing off another salute.  “News from below, sir.  A hydra has been spotted in Egypt.  Looks like the demons tried to handle it, but it’s too much for them.  Would you like me to assemble a team to take care of it?”</p><p><br/> Cas blinked.  He swayed on his feet, using the hellhound as support.  “…Yes.  Sure.”  He was trying to remember what a hydra was.  A red octopus…No, that was something else.  Some pop culture reference.  If only he could rest for a while…But there was so much work to do still.  And he still had to go to Hell to give their dog back.</p><p><br/> “Are you alright, Castiel?  Maybe you should sit down.”</p><p><br/> “I’m…Yes, that’s a good idea.”  </p><p><br/> Ramiel gave him one more worried look, saluted, and headed off to recruit a team of hydra hunters.  Castiel leaned against the hellhound, which licked his hand.</p><p> <br/> “Let’s find a spot to sit for a minute, buddy,” Cas said to it.  He started down a hall that would lead back to the central meeting area, which had more than enough seating for his needs.  </p><p><br/> He was almost there when the hound went nuts.  Its whole body started to shake, and it yelped excitedly, though the sound that came out of it was more reminiscent of something being murdered.  It ran around a corner and the angel ran after it.</p><p><br/> “No!  Bad hellhound!  We do not eat celestial beings!” he shouted, but he was too late.  It had already knocked an angel to the ground—no doubt weakened from fighting Lucifer—and was tearing at its face.  The angel screamed—</p><p><br/> No.  The angel laughed.  As Castiel caught up, he realized the hellhound was licking her, not eating her.  How many angels had Crowley been in cahoots with?</p><p><br/> “Okay!  Okay!  Off!” the angel said, her voice muffled as the beast slobbered all over her.  “Iago, off!”  </p><p><br/> She was finally able to shove the hellhound back and get to her feet.  She wiped her face with her sleeve, removing thick, sticky, sulfurous saliva.  “Ugh.”  The angel cast a disapproving look at Iago, then glanced up at Castiel and smiled.  “Castiel.  It’s been too long.”</p><p><br/> Castiel’s jaw worked up and down, trying to think of something to say.  He recognized the angel in front of him, but it had been, as she said, too long since he’d seen her.  <br/> “I can take care of this guy for you,” she continued, patting the dog’s head.  “If you wouldn’t mind showing me the exit…?”</p><p><br/> He cleared his throat, coughing up a few drops of blood.  “Ah.  Yes.  Thank you.  This way.”  He led angel and hellhound back down the corridor, and they fell into step beside him.  After a few moments’ silence, he said: “I can take you to the Winchesters, if you’d like.  Preferably without the hellhound.”</p><p><br/> She smiled.  “Thank you.  That would be fantastic.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/> Dean woke with a start and immediately flipped onto his side to check the hospital cot they’d wheeled into his room three days ago.  And for the first time in three days, he saw Ash move.</p><p><br/> He sat up and kicked his blanket off, accidentally knocking an empty bottle of Jim Beam onto the floor.  It hit with a ‘clunk’ but didn’t break, and rolled under the bed.  Ash shifted in the cot and opened her eyes.  </p><p><br/> Her face lit up when she saw him: She tried to sit up, but her arms didn’t want to support her.  She tried to say his name, but her throat was too dry, and all she managed was a hoarse cough.  </p><p><br/> Dean took the few steps to the cot and looked for a part of her he could touch without hurting her.  The Enochian symbols Gabriel had carved into her skin were slow to heal, and she was bandaged pretty much head to toe.  All he could do right now was pat her head.  “Alright, take it easy, babe.  You’ve been out for three days; you’re not exactly in great shape.”</p><p><br/> Ash sank back, giving up on trying to move.  Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her: It looked like “you’re alive.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I’m alive,” Dean chuckled.  “Me and a crap-ton of angels, too.  You did it, kid.  Heaven’s back where it’s supposed to be; Hell’s…More or less where it’s supposed to be.”</p><p><br/> Her lips moved again, and her voice came out as little more than a squeak.  Dean had no doubt about the word she was trying to say: “Crowley.”</p><p><br/> Of course she would ask about him right away. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t.  “Uh…No one’s seen him.  Or your mom.  Uh…Merida.”</p><p><br/> “Marian,” Ash squeaked.  </p><p><br/> “Marian.  Right.”  Dean cleared his throat.  “Sam’s already back in the game.  There’s a bunch of stuff that came out of Hell that the demons are too chicken-shit to deal with, so it’s up to us, again.  He’s gone to Oregon to help some local hunters with a basilisk.” </p><p><br/> Ash coughed and swallowed, clearing her throat a bit.  “You didn’t go with him?”</p><p><br/> “Nah.  Someone had to stay here and hold down the fort.  I’ve had to do Sammy’s job, looking through all the old lore books, to find a way to take down this stuff.  And I had no idea when you’d wake up.”  He sat down at her side and gently peeled back a bandage from her arm.  She was almost entirely wrapped in bandages, like an old B-movie mummy.  “Looks like you’re finally starting to heal.  How do you feel?”</p><p><br/> She shrugged, wincing when the movement pulled on the wounds on her back.  “Tired.  Hurt.”</p><p><br/> “Yeah, I’m not surprised.  Cas should be back any day now—he had to go to Heaven to help sort stuff out.  He might be able to heal you.”</p><p><br/> Unlikely, she thought.  Cuts made with angel blades seemed to require healing the old-fashioned way, at least for her.  </p><p><br/> “I can probably take these off now,” Dean continued, peeling the bandaging back more, “Since you aren’t bleeding anymore.” </p><p><br/> Ash nodded.  He helped her sit up, and carefully began to unwrap her.  “Who—” she started to say, but her throat felt dry and tight, and she coughed hard.  “Who’s still…Uh, did any of the other hunters…?”</p><p><br/> “They’re okay,” Dean said.  “Jody, Donna, and the girls have gone back to Sioux Falls.  Garth went to help some hunters in Georgia take care of a—Well, we’re calling it a ‘cockatrice’, but all we know for sure is it came out of Hell and it needs to go back.  Eileen’s gone to stay with her sister; she had a pretty bad concussion, and Sam convinced her to take a break from hunting until she feels better.  We offered to let her stay here, but…”  He shrugged.  “I dunno.  I guess she missed her family.  Charlie’s here, but she probably won’t stay for long.  She’s sort of possibly seeing this hunter not too far from here, and they might go after these dark shadow-creatures that’ve started popping up in Arizona.”</p><p><br/> Ash watched a growing pile of blood-stained gauze fall onto the sheets.  She wheezed, coughed, and felt a large chunk of phlegm dislodge from her throat.  “So—” she began, stopping to cough down more of the nasty throat-crud.  “So you’re alive, and Lucifer is dead.  Heaven and Hell are…Where they’re supposed to be?”</p><p><br/> “Well, more or less.  Aside from the stuff we’re having to clean up.”</p><p><br/> Someone knocked on the door, and Dean nearly jumped out of his seat.  “Come in, Charlie.”</p><p><br/> The door swung open.  Dean turned and was surprised to see a different face.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, Dean.  Ash.  Good to see you awake.”</p><p><br/> “Cas!  I didn’t think you were coming back for a while.”</p><p><br/> “I can’t stay, unfortunately.  I had an old friend that needed to find you.”  Castiel stepped aside, and a second person stepped through the doorway.  </p><p><br/> Dean blinked and scrunched his eyes.  He looked at Ash, who was covered head to toe in Enochian scarring, then back to the newcomer.  It was Ash again, but without the scarring.  Was it a shape-shifter?  He reached for his knife as the figure approached.  </p><p><br/> “Hello, Dean,” the woman said.  She sounded…Almost identical to Ash, but not quite.  “Ash,” she greeted, nodding her head.  </p><p><br/> Now that she was closer, he could see subtle differences.  Her hair was long like Ash’s but lighter in color.  She was a few inches taller, and she wasn’t quite as muscular, though she was still in good shape.  Her chest was a little fuller, but that might have just been because she was standing so straight.  They had the same eyes, though, and the same facial structure: There was no way they weren’t related.  But…Ash would have mentioned if she had a powerful Nephilim sister, right?</p><p><br/> Still half-covered in bandages, Ash struggled to get out from under her blanket and stand up.  Dean gave her a steadying hand, and when she couldn’t manage to support herself on her own legs, he caught her and helped her sit back down.  </p><p><br/> “Who are you?” he asked.</p><p><br/> “That’s my mom,” Ash said.  “That’s—”</p><p><br/> “Marian,” a voice said from behind her.  </p><p><br/> All heads turned at once to take in the intruder.  He leaned casually against the wall, a playful smile on his face.  As they turned to face him, he shoved his hands into his suit pockets and stepped toward the group.  </p><p><br/> “Miss me?”</p><p><br/> “Crowley!” Ash shouted happily.  Again, she struggled to get up, avoiding Dean’s ‘help’ and nearly falling off the cot.  It was like watching a dog that hadn’t seen its owner in years, only the dog didn’t have the use of its legs anymore but was still determined to go to them.  Crowley blinked to her, catching her and setting her back on the mattress.  Dean’s muscle memory kicked in, and he automatically looked for his angel blade (on his nightstand, just out of reach), then realized it would be in poor taste to kill the demon Ash had just worked so hard to bring back to life.  He settled for a half-hearted glare, which Crowley ignored.  </p><p><br/> Ash couldn’t believe it.  She’d wanted this so badly, had tried to resurrect him with everything she had in her, and she’d thought she’d failed.  But Crowley was alive!  He was here!  And she’d brought back Marian, just like he’d wanted!  It was all a bit much for her in the moment, and she felt her eyes filling with tears.  She blinked them away furiously, but she was weak and tired, and it was hard not to be emotional.  Before she realized what she was doing, she’d thrown her arms around the demon and buried her face in his chest.  </p><p><br/> Cas’s eyebrows shot up.  He’d never seen anyone hug a demon, much less Crowley.  He couldn’t read Crowley’s expression, but he certainly seemed thrown off by the gesture, his usual collected façade cracking.  Cas glanced at Marian: The angel was hiding a smile behind her hand, biting her lip to keep from laughing.  Crowley made eye contact with her and she turned away, taking a sudden interest in the piles of books on Dean’s dresser.  </p><p><br/> Dean calculated, in his head, how many seconds it would take to grab his angel blade.  </p><p><br/> After a moment, Crowley gave Ash a sort of half-hug back, putting his arm around her shoulders and using his free hand to pat her head.  When Ash realized what she’d done, she let go of him like she’d been shocked.  She tried to pull away from him, but he still had his arm around her, so she couldn’t get very far.  Her face turned bright pink and she refused to look directly at anyone.  Crowley kept his grip on her, as if she hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary.  </p><p><br/> “I like the new look,” he said, addressing Marian.  “I didn’t think they’d give your wings back.  Or your Grace.”</p><p><br/> Marian shrugged and flexed her wings.  Iridescent black feathers glistened in the dim bunker lighting.  “I believe I have Ash to thank for that.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “I ought to smite you while I have the chance…”</p><p><br/> Crowley didn’t appear concerned by the threat.  “Well alright, but not in front of the kid.  She’s so impressionable.”</p><p><br/> Marian’s eyes glowed with Grace.  “Why shouldn’t I kill you, after what you did—”</p><p><br/> The demon laughed.  “What &lt;I&gt; did?  Did you lose your memory in the Empty?”</p><p><br/> “Hold on,” Ash cut in.  “I thought you liked him.”</p><p><br/> Her eyes dimmed as she focused on her daughter.  “What?  I—He—You don’t know what he did!  He had an entire town possessed—all of my family, my friends—”</p><p><br/> Crowley made a face.  “Are you still hung up on that?  What about literally everything else that happened?”</p><p><br/> Ash looked hopefully from one to the other.  She’d waited her entire life to learn about her mother.  “What happened?”</p><p><br/> Marian glared at Crowley for a moment, then turned her attention back to Ash.  She stepped toward her, stopping just in front of her, and held her hand out toward her forehead.  “I’ll show you.”</p><p><br/> “Hold on!” Crowley snapped, grabbing Marian’s wrist to stop her.  The intensity of the resulting glare frightened Ash, but Crowley stood his ground.  “You’re a bit biased, don’t you think?  I should show her.” </p><p><br/> Marian removed her wrist from his grip.  “…Fine.  You tell your story, I’ll tell mine.  Just try not to fry her brain, will you?”</p><p><br/> “Fine.”  </p><p><br/> “Fine.”</p><p><br/> They both touched her forehead, and Ash’s world went dark.  </p><p><br/> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18: There's Something About Marian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The story of Ash's mom...Part 1 of many</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/> Marian knew about angels.  She learned about them in Sunday school, and in church, where her parents brought her every week.  She learned about them in the Christian school she went to.  Her parents were very religious.  </p><p><br/> They called Marian a gift from God.  Desperately wanting a child of their own but told they’d never be able to conceive one, Mom and Dad had tried anyway for years, and they’d prayed, prayed harder than most people had about anything.  They’d prayed so hard that they’d actually managed to annoy the angels, who usually dismissed human prayer as nothing more than background noise in their fight against Hell and evil and all that nonsense.  But of course, Mom and Dad didn’t know that part.</p><p> They also didn’t know that Marian had been an angel once.  She’d been a particularly difficult one to deal with, because for some unfathomable reason God had given her a mind of her own.  She was an excellent soldier as far as fighting went, but she wasn’t always so great at following orders.  Her tendency to question authority got her into so much trouble that the other angels were at a loss as to what to do with her: She hadn’t committed a crime that would merit her death or even prison, but she couldn’t be trusted on her own.  </p><p><br/> Solving two headaches at once, the angels took Marian’s grace away and gave her new life as a human.  While there certainly was no ‘immaculate’ conception, her sudden appearance in Mom’s womb had nothing to do with either human’s fertility and everything to do with her being an annoying little snot upstairs.  Marian was human in every way that counted, including her memory, which was wiped clean the instant she became a little zygote.  </p><p><br/> Sending an angel to earth as a human was a ridiculous decision, one that had never been made before and would never be made again.  There were bigger forces at work than the angels, though—forces like Fate and Destiny, which people tend to scoff at these days.  An angel that is mostly human will always be &lt;mostly&gt; human, which means that they are also just a little bit angelic, and the tiniest bit of grace is all Fate needs to make our story possible.  The angels knew the story, but it was so implausible as to seem impossible, and therefore not worth their concern when there were so many other things to concern themselves with.  They kept half an eye on Marian, of course, just to be sure she wasn’t going to be a problem on Earth; but she turned out to be perfectly normal, and they quickly lost interest.  They had no eyes whatsoever on a young man in 17th century Scotland, a man whose mother was a tough-as-nails witch with her eye on immortality.  Plenty of people in those days were dabbling in the occult, and people were always making deals with demons; one or two more were of no concern.  If someone had been paying attention, they might have taken an interest in Fergus McLeod and smote him before he could find a crossroads.  But that would have made our story very short, and far less interesting.  </p><p> </p><p> When she was 14 years old, Marian’s class was on a whale watch trip based out of Boston, MA.  It wasn’t a great day to see whales: The sky was dark and the seas were choppy, and half the class was either in the toilets or leaned over the railings being sick.  Even some of the crew were feeling nauseous, which was likely why someone forgot to latch the side rail where passengers normally disembarked.  This just so happened to be the same railing that Marian grabbed when a wave sent her pitching off balance; half a dozen classmates watched as she caught the rail, then the whole railing swung outward, and Marian followed.  She caught the back of her shoe on the deck and seemed to pull herself forward for a moment, but a second bump and a large spray of seawater caused her to lose her grip on the rail, and she fell into the open ocean.  <br/> Halfway down the boat, she struck her head against the hull.  </p><p><br/> It took the crew seven minutes to pull her back onto the deck.  Given the size of the waves, the fact that she was unconscious, and the fact that these were marine biologists and not Coast Guard, seven minutes wasn’t bad, but it also meant she was probably going to be dead.  Normal humans cannot breathe saltwater for seven minutes and come out unharmed.  <br/> Marian came back to the land of the living with someone pounding on her chest hard enough to crack her sternum, and immediately vomited more sea water than should have been able to fit in her body.  While she’d been out, the teeny little dot of grace inside her had activated, not only saving her life but opening a door in her mind that should have remained shut.  She could remember being an angel: Heaven, wars, her friends and…Not-friends.  <br/> It really put puberty into perspective.  <br/> Despite the overly religious nature of her parents, Marian decided it best not to inform them of her previous life.  She didn’t need to spend the rest of her days in an asylum.  <br/> But now, she knew things she hadn’t before.  And not just things about angels (like how most of them were Grade A assholes, *cough* Raphael), but things about Earth and Hell and monsters—so many monsters!  God had created them, little experiments that he’d then discarded as failures, but he hadn’t done anything with them, just stopped trying to fix them.  They roamed the human world, hunting people and killing them, and the angels were too busy being self-important and fretting about what dear-old-Dad was up to for them to worry about actual humans and the things that were killing them.  So Marian watched, and learned, and she started to hunt.  She convinced her parents to send her to an out-of-state boarding high school (Christian, of course) so that she could hunt more and worry less about her family.  The part of her that remembered Heaven was also extremely good at school—it seemed to know everything, in fact—and she excelled in her studies despite never actually studying.  Her one downfall was history, because apparently humans had got quite a bit wrong, and she had to read the materials in order to learn their version of past events.  </p><p><br/> In college, she majored in religious studies, which simultaneously pleased the crap out of her parents while providing an endless fount of hunting knowledge.  She continued to attend church, mostly out of habit, but she didn’t dare pray.  </p><p><br/> She was afraid someone might hear her.  </p><p><br/> The first few years out of college were spent on mission trips.  Marian built houses in El Salvador and worked on irrigation systems in Senegal; she translated for Doctors Without Borders in Uganda and the Congo.  She liked helping people; it was, she felt, what she was meant to do as an angel, anyway.  And when she wasn’t mixing concrete or explaining tapeworms in French, she was learning about Chupacabra (indigenous to Central and South America) and the Adze and Impundulu (scattered throughout remote areas of the African continent).  She learned to listen to the locals talk about their legends, which nine times out of ten were at least partially true. </p><p><br/> By her 25th birthday, Marian seemed to have the whole ‘hunter’ lifestyle figured out.  Back home in America (Massachusetts, because she did still love her family), she had a network of hunter friends spread across the country.  Her old but sensible Honda Accord was full of iron, silver, salt, holy water, knives, guns, and wooden stakes cut from various trees (those mostly took out the Pagan gods), and continued to run despite having once been possessed by a poltergeist, and twice possessed by squirrels that wanted to live under the hood.  She could recite exorcisms in her sleep and rattle off the top twenty most common monsters in the US and how to kill them.  </p><p><br/> It should come as no surprise, then, that she was familiar with the demon Crowley.  He was king of the crossroads, a cocky bastard who loved to hear the sound of his own voice and always seemed to have the upper hand.  She’d met him a few times, never getting a chance to trap him or exorcise him.  He held more souls than other demons, so he was stronger, which made him more annoying, but usually it was the less successful crossroads demons that caught her attention.  </p><p><br/> Then December 3 happened.</p><p><br/> She was in town visiting her parents.  They lived in northern Mass in a town called Rowley, far from the chaos of Boston.  Some of her hunter friends were with her, celebrating after they’d taken out a pack of werewolves in Vermont.  Things were going well for Marian: She could see her parents, who were healthy and blissfully ignorant of her real occupation; she could relax with her friends, instead of running for her life; and her car was running, which was itself a small miracle.  Everything she loved was right there with her.</p><p><br/> Everything she loved.  Was right there.</p><p><br/> Her parents’ house wasn’t warded.  Marian had tried, at first, to hang pictures up with symbols, telling them it was artwork inspired by her religion classes.  But they’d felt the images were un-Christian and unsettling, and took them down.  Still, she was completely surprised to come home and find Crowley sitting in her living room and her parents possessed by demons.  And it wasn’t just her parents, come to find out, but &lt;every person in the entire town&gt;, all 6000+ of them, men, women, and children.  Marian and her friends were quickly subdued by a veritable army of demons.</p><p> </p><p>     **************</p><p> </p><p> Marian stopped struggling, aware that the demon holding her had easily twice her strength.  If the demons had wanted to kill her, they would have done so already: This was looking more like a hostage situation, with her family and 6000 acquaintances and strangers on the line.  </p><p><br/> “What do you want, Crowley?” fellow hunter Erica growled.  Each of the hunters was being held by a single demon, arms hooked behind their backs, stripped of any weapons.  <br/> “I want to make a deal,” the demon replied, his voice smooth with just a hint of malice.</p><p><br/> Someone scoffed.  Marian turned, trying to see the cause of the outburst: David, an athletic hunter in his mid-30’s.  He was currently being held in place by a demon possessing a girl half his size.  </p><p><br/> “You went to all this trouble—got over six &lt;thousand&gt; demons to possess an entire town—just for a handful of hunters?  It’s flattering, but really, we’re not worth it.”</p><p><br/> Crowley cocked his head, smiling faintly, and studied David like he was an annoying insect that had gotten inside the house.  “Oh, I agree.  I wouldn’t send &lt;six&gt; demons after you, let alone six thousand.”  He gestured toward the captives as a whole, but then his attention fixed on Marian.  “You, however…”</p><p><br/> Marian’s heart dropped into her stomach and the blood drained from her face.  &lt;He can’t know.  How could he possibly know?&gt;  She’d never told anyone, on the grounds that anyone who knew could then be tortured for information on her.  </p><p><br/> “You’re special, darling,” Crowley purred, stepping closer.  “Special enough that the devil himself showed an interest in you.”</p><p><br/> Well, &lt;that&gt; didn’t sound good.  She didn’t remember much about Lucifer from before the Fall—she’d never had much to do with the archangels anyway—but she knew he had a nasty temper.  But she was human now, or human enough, so why show an interest in her?</p><p><br/> “I know what you’re thinking, Marian: ‘I’m ninety-nine percent human, the Big Bad can’t possibly have a use for me.’  But it’s not the ninety-nine percent he wants—it’s just the one.”</p><p><br/> Her companions bristled.  “The Hell are you talking abou—” someone began.</p><p><br/> Faster than she could process, Crowley had an angel blade pressed to her collarbone.  Marian stopped breathing and held perfectly still.  </p><p><br/> “Do they not know?  Really?”  Crowley sounded genuinely surprised.  “Shall we show them?”</p><p><br/> She hissed through her teeth as the blade bit into her skin.  It hurt far more than it should have—more than an ordinary knife would have, at least.  Her ears rang, and the cut glowed faintly, so faint that she only saw it because she knew it was there.  But her friends, who had better views, saw it.  </p><p><br/> “That’s not possible,” Erica whispered.</p><p><br/> “An angel?” David breathed.  “But…Why…”</p><p><br/> The angel blade disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Crowley took a step back, looking smug and satisfied.  Marian couldn’t stand to look right at him, but she didn’t trust him enough to look away, so she settled for staring at a point just to the right of his head.  </p><p><br/> “’M not an angel,” she grumbled.  “I &lt;was&gt;.  A long time ago.  A lifetime ago.  I was…Cast out.  For not behaving myself.”</p><p><br/> “But—You could smite them—”</p><p><br/> “No!  I can’t smite anything!  I have no wings, no power.  I’m…I’m just a human who remembers what it’s like to be an angel.”</p><p><br/> “An angel with its wings clipped is still an angel,” Crowley said.  “You have none of the mojo, yet you still have potential.”</p><p><br/> Her eyes narrowed.  “Potential?  What’s Lucifer want from me that he doesn’t already have?  There’s nothing I can do that he can’t—”</p><p><br/> Marian cut herself off as a thought occurred to her.  There was a witch, ages ago—17th century, if she remembered correctly—who’d been extremely psychic.  And though she wasn’t a prophet of the Lord, she’d written a book of prophecy: Things she’d seen that would happen, or could happen, depending on what paths were taken.  But the angels had gotten pissed, they thought only a prophet should write prophecy:  It was neater, the instructions would be clear, and they would come directly from Heaven and not the mind of a crazy old bat whose mind was constantly flicking between ‘fast forward’ and ‘pause.’  So they whispered to the devout Puritans and started the witch hunts, and the woman was killed.  The book vanished, supposedly it was burned with her cottage, but no one could ever prove it.  The angels knew what she’d written, though, and it was only natural that, during some skirmish between angel and demon, Hell would have learned of the ‘fake prophecies’ as well.  </p><p><br/> One of the prophecies said that a fallen angel and a demon would produce an Abomination, the angel’s fancy term for a Nephilim that was half angel and half demon.  This creature would be immensely powerful and become Lucifer’s to command, and he would use it to rewrite the universe to his own liking.  The text didn’t go so far as to name any names, but it was clear that the fallen angel was in a female vessel and would bear the child, and the demon was in a male one.  Hence, something Lucifer couldn’t do on his own.  </p><p><br/> Marian shook her head.  “No.  Lucifer’s wrong.  It’s not me—”</p><p><br/> Crowley laughed.  “Lucifer’s wrong?  Want to tell him that yourself?  He gets lonely down in the Cage.”</p><p><br/> “Mare,” Erica hissed, “I don’t understand…”</p><p><br/> Marian swallowed hard.  She wished she could call up that feeling of being powerful and divine, but right now she felt so small and human.  “You want to make a deal,” she said, her voice wavering.  </p><p><br/> “Yes.”  Crowley clapped his hands together.  “I will let these people go—all 6325 of them—completely unharmed, in exchange for you.  I leave here, you come with me; and I own you, mind, body, and soul, forever.”</p><p><br/> There was a flurry of protests from the other hunters; it certainly seemed like a ridiculous request.</p><p><br/> “And if I don’t?”</p><p><br/> “6325 people die, and I drag all their souls down to Hell.  I’ve got the manpower—well, demon-power—on my side.  And that includes dear old Mum and Dad—and your little friends there,” he said, nodding to the hunters, who were now shouting all sorts of unhelpful things.  Crowley took a step toward her.  “Can you live with that, angel?”</p><p><br/> &lt;This was just supposed to be a fun visit home after a good hunt&gt;, she thought forlornly.  Now she was facing down either a life of slavery to a demon, which would also include lots of non-consensual sex to produce the aforementioned Abomination and lead to the end of the world, or she could be responsible for the deaths of her family, friends, and over six thousand strangers.  The thing was, Crowley had worked very hard to put all this together.  Demons weren’t the greatest at working together, and to get over six thousand to orchestrate this thing flawlessly…Well, it couldn’t have been easy.  If he wanted to get to her that badly, he wouldn’t just stop with this town.  He’d move on to the next, and the next, until she was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people, all to stop the creation of the thing that would wipe out all life on the planet—shit, she was screwed no matter what she did.</p><p><br/> “Why make a deal?” she found herself asking.  “Why not just…Abduct me, or whatever?”</p><p><br/>“For the small print, love.  We make a deal, I get to add a clause that says, ‘if you or any of your little friends try to kill me, every human life here is immediately forfeit.’  And, of course, ‘if you kill &lt;yourself,&gt; they’ll all die, too.’  Saves a lot of trouble in the long run.”</p><p><br/> Marian’s jaw dropped.  &lt;I’m just a hunter&gt;, she wanted to say.  &lt;I’m not an angel, and I’m definitely not the angel you’re looking for, so there’s really no need to go to all this trouble for little ol’ me&gt;.  But she’d felt the sting of the angel blade, saw the remnants of grace when she was cut…She could remember a time when she could have smote every demon in the room without breaking a sweat, and now she couldn’t even get one lousy goon to let go of her.  Whatever grace had been left to her was useless, though apparently Crowley and Lucifer thought otherwise.  She looked around at her friends and her possessed family, and the possessed townspeople that were working security detail.  She couldn’t let them all die.  </p><p><br/> In a brief rush of either courage or stupidity, she met Crowley’s gaze.  “If I can’t hurt you, you can’t hurt them.  You and any demon under your command has to leave my friends and family alone.”</p><p><br/> The small, predatory smile on the demon’s face broadened.  “Are you…Negotiating?”  He knew he’d won.</p><p><br/> She tried to take a step backward, but the demon holding her didn’t budge.  Now she just felt stupid.  “Um,” she said, her voice much softer than before, “Yes.”</p><p><br/> Marian ignored the protests of her friends and kept her focus on Crowley as he drew closer.  </p><p><br/> “Alright.  I will not interfere with or harm your friends and family, nor will I send agents to harm them; and your friends and family will not interfere with or harm me or my agents.  A direct act of aggression against any of the aforementioned parties will void the contract, ergo, if I am attacked, everyone who was in this town at this time dies, and if I attack them, you are released.”  He snapped his fingers and a piece of paper appeared in his hand.  He held it out to her and motioned for his goon to release her.<br/> Marian shook herself off, quickly stepping away from her captor.  Trouble was, stepping away from that demon meant stepping toward Crowley.  She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as she reached her hand out to take the paper.</p><p><br/> It was written in cursive, elegant yet tidy.  </p><p><br/> “Marian,” Erica said sternly.  </p><p><br/> The paper shook as she tried to steady her hand.  The words were blurring together.  </p><p><br/> “Let me see it.”  Erica had been a lawyer for two years, before one of her own cases got her into the supernatural world.  </p><p><br/> Marian glanced up at Crowley, as if asking permission, and took a step back toward her friend.  </p><p><br/> Crowley waved a hand dismissively.  “By all means.”  He gave Erica a look that said, &lt;you may have studied modern law, but I’ve been sealing deals for centuries.  You really think you’ll come out on top?&gt;</p><p><br/> Erica’s demon released her, and she took the paper from Marian.  For a moment, it looked like she was going to try and fight her way out; Marian shook her head, no.  The demons had taken all their weapons, and they possessed every body for miles around.  There was no fighting their way out of this one.  Erica huffed angrily, knowing she was right, and read through the deal.  </p><p><br/> The room was uncomfortably silent as Marian read over her shoulder.  It looked straight-forward to her: She would become Crowley’s property/slave/thing, and she had to do whatever he said—</p><p><br/> “Hang on.  You’re not allowed to make me hurt my friends or family,” Marian interjected, just a little too loudly next to Erica’s ear.</p><p><br/> Crowley chuckled.  “Fair enough.”  He gestured, and the words wrote themselves into the contract.  </p><p><br/> “Nice catch,” Erica whispered.</p><p><br/> Marian wasn’t allowed to harm or attempt to harm Crowley or another demon acting under his orders, nor were her friends, and Crowley couldn’t harm them.  He &lt;could,&gt; however, harm Marian, though he couldn’t kill her.  &lt;Right&gt;, Marian thought darkly, &lt;It’d be hard to incubate the Abomination if I was dead.&gt;</p><p><br/> Erica argued a few more minor points, then Marian spoke up again.  “I want to say goodbye to my parents,” she said.  “Un-possessed.”</p><p><br/> Crowley considered this, then the words wrote themselves.  “After you agree.”</p><p><br/> Erica bristled.  “Wh—”</p><p><br/> “Can’t have her pulling a miraculous escape with dear old Mom and Dad.  But if I already own her…”  He shrugged.  “Doesn’t really matter, then.  Knock yourself out.”</p><p><br/> Marian was shaking.  This whole thing had ‘bad dream’ written all over it, but between the sulfur and the too-hot stuffiness of all the demons in the room, it was very, very real.  &lt;This is what you get for arguing with Heaven&gt;, she thought dejectedly.  &lt;Becoming human wasn’t the punishment; it was only the beginning…&gt;</p><p><br/> “Seriously, though, you can’t do this,” another hunter, Jade, said.  “Let them kill us.”</p><p><br/> “What?!” multiple humans snapped at once.</p><p><br/> “Look, whatever he wants you for, it’s bad, right?  He’s a demon.  He’s doing this &lt;for Lucifer&gt;.  So you can’t do it!  Who cares about 6000 people when there are 6 billion out there?  This is &lt;bad&gt;.”</p><p><br/> Crowley looked at her like a bug had just flown in front of his face.  It was the kind of look that said, &lt;if I just swat it now, that’ll be one less annoying thing to deal with later…&gt;</p><p><br/> “I know,” Marian said, stepping between the hunter and demon.  “And I know what he wants.  But this is &lt;right now&gt;, and that’s the future, and I can’t…”  She sighed.  “The demons aren’t going to stop.  But I can stop them by doing this.”</p><p><br/> “Wh—you know?  What is it?” Erica hissed.</p><p><br/> Marian hesitated.  She didn’t want to frighten her friends more than they already were.  She also didn’t want to look like more of a fool in front of Crowley if she was wrong.  <br/> “Well,” said another hunter, “If she was—is?—an angel, they could probably cross-breed some kind of super demon-angel, like a Nephilim but stronger.”</p><p><br/> She felt her face flush, and she bit down hard on her bottom lip.  &lt;Keep your fucking mouth shut, Angela.&gt;</p><p><br/> Crowley blinked once, slowly.  He still looked like a cat that had cornered all the mice and was waiting for them to stop squeaking before eating them.  </p><p><br/> The demon that had been holding Erica snickered.  “You have no &lt;idea&gt; how powerful it’ll be.”</p><p><br/> “She’s &lt;right&gt;?” Erica snapped back.  She grabbed Marian’s arm, fingers digging uncomfortably tight into her flesh.  “&lt;Marian&gt;.  Spending the rest of your life doing God-knows-what and being tortured is one thing, but we’re talking about basically being a—a—”</p><p><br/> “Sex slave to a demon,” Angela piped up helpfully.  There was a smattering of demonic chuckles across the room.  </p><p><br/> Marian felt like her legs were going to give out underneath her.  She couldn’t control her breathing, and she was starting to lose feeling in her extremeties.  “Not.  Helping,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.  She shook her head, trying to regain her composure.  “He’s going to kill you,” she reminded her friends.  “We can’t fight our way out of this one.  Not this time.”</p><p><br/> They stared back at her, knowing she was right but unwilling to admit defeat.  </p><p><br/> “I love you guys,” she said, taking a step away from them and toward Crowley.  “You can’t try to come after me.  You can’t come after &lt;him&gt;.”</p><p><br/> “But—”</p><p><br/> “&lt;Please&gt;.  Promise me you won’t go after him.”</p><p><br/> There was a tense moment of silence, and the only thing Marian could hear was her own teeth chattering together.  Then, finally: </p><p><br/> “Okay.”</p><p><br/> She moved like she was in a dream, like she was watching herself from far away.  Clutching the contract in one sweaty hand, she walked until she was standing right in front of Crowley and forced herself to make eye contact with him.  And for a moment she could see &lt;him&gt;, not the meat-suit but the demon, and she froze completely, not breathing, not moving, not even blinking.  </p><p><br/> Crowley’s smug expression faltered.  He was used to hate-filled looks, disgusted looks, looks that said ‘please take this burning poker out of my intestinal tract,’ and deadly looks; but this was just…Fear.  Lots of people &lt;should&gt; fear him, in his opinion, but no one ever did.  But this girl was terrified.  Was she angel enough to see him?</p><p><br/> “Angel?” he prompted.  </p><p><br/> Marian blinked and shivered.  Crowley looked human again; his predatory grin returned.  </p><p><br/> “Do we have a deal?”</p><p><br/> She could hear the hunters groaning behind her.  In a voice so small she could barely hear herself, she said: “Yes.”</p><p><br/> He took the paper from her and slipped it into a suit pocket smoothly.  “Then seal it.”</p><p><br/> She froze again, eyes sliding back to look at the hunters.  </p><p><br/> “Don’t be shy, kid,” said the demon possessing her father.  “You’ll be doing a lot more than kissing him.”  The leer he gave her was so unfatherly it made her skin crawl.  &lt;I should have told Heaven to just kill me,&gt; she thought.  &lt;Better than spending the rest of my life being raped by a demon.&gt;  And then: &lt;Get out of my dad, you cockroach.&gt;<br/> She had to do this.  She had to save her parents, and her friends, and the town, and all the other towns that would follow if she didn’t do this now.  Maybe she deserved it for disobeying Heaven.  They were big on penance up there; was this meant to be hers?  God, she hated angels. </p><p><br/> Crowley waited.  He was going to wait, Marian realized, until she came to him; she had to do this of her own free will, more or less, otherwise it could be argued that the deal was forced.  And it was extremely forced, in the sense of over 6000 demons forcing her to take the deal, but she would always have to take that final step, to say she would rather give up her own life than have six thousand people, including her friends and family, die.  </p><p><br/> She couldn’t feel her hands or feet.  Her legs felt like rubber and lead.  Somehow, one foot took a step forward, then the other, and now she was close enough to really feel the heat radiating from him.  She was shorter than him, and she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact with him.  </p><p><br/> His eyes flashed red and he dipped his head to kiss her.  Marian closed her eyes, afraid she’d scream if she opened them and saw the actual demon under his skin, though she still wanted to scream.  &lt;Huge mistake&gt;, she thought, but it was too late to turn back now.  Besides, she’d already told herself she wasn’t going to let the others die.  <br/> Kissing a demon was like kissing a volcano.  She knew they put off heat, but holy Hell, she could feel her lips cracking and burning.  And Crowley wasn’t content with a little peck, either: It was like he had a point to prove, not just to her but to her fellow hunters.  He slid one hand around the back of her neck and the other around her waist, trapping her in place.  She braced her hands against his chest to stop herself from being completely pressed up against him, but his demon strength prevented her from creating any more distance between them.  The message was clear: &lt;Mine.&gt;  </p><p><br/> Her skin tingled, and she realized the words from the paper were being written onto her skin.  It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it burned a little and wasn’t pleasant.  She remembered something about demon power hurting angels more than it hurt humans, and wondered if the little speck of her that was still angel was going to make things worse.  As if on cue, there was a sharp pain in the back of her neck, right below Crowley’s hand, like something had stung her.  She flinched and let out the tiniest whimper; Crowley released her, and she took a step back, rubbing the base of her neck.  The demon gave her a puzzled look: It wouldn’t have hurt if she was fully human, then.<br/> Crowley turned to his demons.  “Alright boys, head out.”</p><p><br/> The hunters braced themselves, ducking their heads as the other demons smoked out of their meatsuits and vacated the house.  There was a sound like a jet engine passing overhead as six thousand demons vacated their bodies throughout the town.  </p><p><br/> “You have five minutes,” he said to Marian, and vanished.</p><p><br/> She went to her parents immediately while her friends made sure the other people, the ones that had just been their demon bodyguards, were alright.  Marian’s mom and dad had been kept awake, evidently, so there was less to catch them up on, but they were very shaken up.  They didn’t know about hunting or monsters, and Marian had been careful to keep up the illusion with them that she was a missionary, because the last thing she wanted her Christian parents to learn was that she was busy fighting demons.  They would’ve thought she was crazy.</p><p><br/> But this was proof, she supposed, that she wasn’t crazy.  Still, she didn’t have time to recount her hunting history with them, or why she was kicked out of Heaven and sent to be their daughter.  </p><p><br/> “I love you so much,” she told them.  “I have to go now, and—and I can’t come back.  You’ll be safe.  Crowley won’t—he can’t hurt you.  And if some other demon comes after you, my friends will protect you.  This is what they do.  It’s what we all do.”</p><p><br/> She said goodbye to everyone in a whirlwind of hugs, kisses, and well-meant advice and wishes.  There was a quick discussion about ways they could kill Crowley when he came back, and Marian had to remind them that, not only did they not have any weapons that could hurt him, they would also die the moment they went to attack him.  She had to reiterate that no one was to come looking for her, and no one was to go after Crowley.  </p><p><br/> “But you told us how to summon him—we have your angel blade,” Erica reminded her.  “If we do it fast—”</p><p><br/> “Then you’ll die.  Immediately.”  Marian sighed.  She was shaking like a nudist in a blizzard, but she was determined not to cry in front of her friends.  She needed them to believe that she was okay.  “You read the contract.  You can’t hurt him.”</p><p><br/> “Then we’ll find someone else to do it—another hunter that’s—”</p><p><br/> “It still counts!  It’s still your intention.  Please, just…Don’t do anything to get yourself killed.  Not like this.  You go and you die a hunter’s death, but not because of me.  Not because of this.”</p><p><br/> There was much grumbling, but everyone finally agreed to leave Crowley alone; Marian suspected they just wanted her to feel better about it, like she was trying to do with them.  </p><p><br/> Crowley reappeared, looking just as smug as before.  The hunters bristled, and more than one of them stuck a hand in a pocket; Marian shook her head, silently pleading for them not to try anything stupid.  </p><p><br/> “Time to go, angel.”</p><p><br/> It didn’t feel real.  She was never going to see her family again.  She was never going to see her friends.  The phrase ‘demon sex slave’ kept repeating itself in her head until she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.  There wasn’t anything else to say to everyone, and she didn’t trust herself to open her mouth without screaming, puking, or both, so she just nodded in response to the demon and stepped beside him.  He grabbed her shoulder, and they vanished.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19: Aotearoa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marian's story continues, with a special visit to the southern hemisphere.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It felt like she was moving backwards very fast.  There was a rush of air and the scenery changed: Her eyes were just starting to focus on what looked like a home library when they blurred again, and she was falling, very slowly, without hitting the ground.</p>
<p>                Marian woke up and had a brief moment of hope, wondering if the whole thing had been a nightmare.  But she could still smell traces of sulfur, and she wasn’t in a place she recognized, and her head was pounding like she’d been hit with a mallet.  She was in a normal-looking bedroom, not so different from the one she had back home, only this one had a distinct lack of weapons and warding.  Other than that, it bore a striking resemblance to her room—there was the same blanket she had, in fact, and the things on the dresser looked…Familiar…Hold on, was that her stuff?</p>
<p>                She sat up slowly, holding one hand up to her head to combat the throbbing.  &lt;<em>Fuck&gt;.</em>  She’d just sold herself to a demon in exchange for the lives of 6000 people (some of which were more important to her than others, but they were all important).  And he wanted to use her to create the Abomination, the thing that would help Lucifer destroy his father’s Creation.  That meant a &lt;<em>lot&gt;</em> of non-consensual demon sex, and she wasn’t even allowed to fight back.  But it wouldn’t work: the witch who’d written the ‘prophecy’ had been very specific.  Not that demons would listen to the fine print—if any of them had actually read the thing, which she doubted they had, they’d probably gloss over the details.  ‘Have sex with angel, produce weapon,’ that’s what they’d get from it.  Bastards—they were just as bad as angels sometimes. </p>
<p>                Oh crap; she was in a bed.  Was Crowley going to come back and have sex with her &lt;<em>right here&gt;</em>, right now, or now-ish?  She panicked; she needed to run.  &lt;<em>You can’t run&gt;</em>, she reminded herself, which only made her panic more.  &lt;<em>You’re trapped, you have to do as he says, and there’s no one on Heaven or Earth that can help you now&gt;.</em> </p>
<p>                Marian dealt with this realization by bursting into tears.</p>
<p>                It was the bursting of the dam she’d built up hours ago in an attempt to protect her friends.  Every tear she’d forced back at her parents’ house was freed in the kind of soul-wracking sobs normally reserved for the sudden death of a very close family or friend.  And in a way, that was the case for her: <em>All</em> of her family and friends were dead to her, though of course they were really alive and free, and would remain that way at least as far as Crowley was concerned.  She cried so hard she pulled a muscle in her ribs and ruptured a blood vessel in her eye, but she couldn’t stop.  She was caught in an endless loop of self-pity and anxiety.</p>
<p>                The loop was broken by the sudden appearance of Crowley.  Startled, Marian sucked in her breath, choked on it, and launched into a coughing fit.  The demon waited for her to catch her breath before he spoke, leaning casually against the dresser with his hands in his pockets. </p>
<p>                “I’d forgotten how annoyingly emotional humans could be,” he said, then shrugged.  “Still, it’s better than those feathered &lt;<em>rats&gt;</em> that think they’re God’s gift to the universe.”</p>
<p>                Had this been any other day, Marian would have said that angels &lt;<em>are&gt;</em> God’s gift to the universe, even if she couldn’t stand them herself.  But she felt that arguing any point with Crowley now was unwise and potentially dangerous. </p>
<p>                “Not many angels would’ve done what you did today,” he continued.  He looked immensely pleased with himself, enjoying having complete control over her even if he wasn’t doing anything to her.  “They’re all self-serving bastards.  Don’t even care about humans now that Daddy’s gone.  Given the choice, I’d bet 99 out of 100 would’ve let everyone die.”</p>
<p>                He was right, of course; she only knew of one other angel that would have sacrificed himself for his comrades or six thousand humans, and Heaven had a nasty habit of drilling into his head every time he got too noble like that. </p>
<p>                Crowley’s smug smile faded and he cocked his head to the side.  “Something wrong with your head?”</p>
<p>                Realizing she’d have to speak, Marian swallowed the lump in her throat.  “Just a headache.”</p>
<p>                “You get them often?” </p>
<p>She shook her head.  He sauntered over to her, sitting down on the side of the bed closest to her.  Marian tensed and started to scoot away from him.</p>
<p>                Her movement backwards was halted suddenly, and she could feel the tingle of the demonic force that stopped her.  Crowley motioned for her to come toward him and his power dragged her forward until she was within his reach. </p>
<p>                “<em>Stay</em>,” he commanded, reaching out to touch her forehead. </p>
<p>                She flinched and hissed when she felt the burn of demonic energy trickle into her head. </p>
<p>                “Hmm,” said Crowley.  He withdrew his hand and the feeling disappeared, along with her headache.  “The bit of you that’s angel is having a much stronger reaction to demonic energy than I’d thought it would.  How’s your head now?”</p>
<p>                “Um.  Better.”  She looked down at her hands, anything not to look directly at him.  And, because she felt it was expected of her, she mumbled a soft “Thank you.”</p>
<p>                She felt his hand on her head again, like he was going to smooth her hair back, and pulled away reflexively.  Suddenly he was gripping her hair in his fist and yanking her head back, forcing her to look at him. </p>
<p>                “Don’t,” he growled.  He released his grip and ran his hand through her hair again, and this time she held still, though she was shaking.  Crowley smirked.  “Your fear is flattering, but honestly you’re lucky I found you first.  I’m much more…Level-headed than most of my cohorts.”  He leaned closer, his hand on the back of her neck.  “And as much as I love watching an ex-angel cower before me, I think we need to get something out in the open…”</p>
<p>                The air burned around her and before she could even panic about it, she found herself flat on her back, naked, the demon on top of her.  Her wrists were pinned over her head, stinging as he held them in place with his power alone.  He had one hand lightly squeezing her throat, not enough to cut her airway off but just enough to remind her that he <em>could</em>. </p>
<p>                Crowley spoke in a low growl, lips practically brushing her ear.  “Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to make you my ‘sex slave,’ as your friends so eloquently said.  I would rape you again and again and again, just because I could, because I <em>own</em> you.”  He ground his hips against her, once, for emphasis.  “But I need a Nephilim, and fucking you alone isn’t going to get me one, is it?”  He pulled his head back to make eye contact with her. </p>
<p>                Marian had no choice but to look back at him.  She’d never felt this vulnerable in her entire life—never as a human, and certainly never as an angel.  She was hoping her brain would dissociate, but she was painfully aware of everything: The cool blanket under her back, the overly warm and slightly scratchy fabric of Crowley’s suit pressed against her front, the smell of sulfur and cologne, the sting of demonic energy, the heat from his breath, the pressure on her throat.  Maybe if she held her breath long enough, she could get herself to pass out.  The one thing she couldn’t register was what he was saying to her: He was obviously going to rape her, why did he always insist on playing with his food first?</p>
<p>                “Hell said not to worry about the footnotes.  Do you believe that?  They obviously don’t have experience with witches.  <em>I </em>do.  <em>Always</em> read the footnotes.  They can mean the difference between setting your enemy on fire and setting <em>yourself</em> on fire.”  He pushed himself upright, releasing his grip on her neck, so that he was kneeling between her legs and leering down at her.  She turned her head to the side, looking away.  She didn’t need to watch him rake his eyes over her like a lion eyeing a baby zebra. </p>
<p>                He hummed agreeably, then snapped his fingers.  Marian felt the tingle of power around her, then looked up at him in surprise: She was back in her clothes. </p>
<p>                Still looking pleased, Crowley moved to her side and laid down, propping himself up on an elbow.  His free hand drifted lightly across her stomach and curled around her waist, pulling her against him.  Her hands were still pinned above her head, and the rest of her was frozen in fear; all she could do was shiver. </p>
<p>                “I’ve never had a challenge like you before, angel.  You’re the first problem that can’t be solved solely through torture and smooth talking, though I’m sure I’ll still get use out of them.  I won’t rape you, though; I just wanted you to see how easily I <em>could</em>.”  Her brow furrowed in confusion, and he smirked back at her.  “I want you to like me, Marian.  You &lt;<em>will&gt;</em> love me.  It may take one year or twenty, but I’ve got time.  When I do fuck you,” he purred, lips gently pressing into her jawline, “It’ll be because you &lt;<em>begged&gt;</em> me for it.”</p>
<p>                She wanted to scream at him.  She wanted to punch his smug demon face.  She wanted to yell, &lt;<em>I will rot in Hell for a thousand years before I beg you for sex.  You might as well go ahead and rape me, because I will never love a demon.  You’ve killed people I cared about, tried to kill </em>me<em>, and the only reason I’m here is because you threatened to kill </em>everyone<em>.  And while I can’t stop you from doing what you want to me, I will </em>never<em> like it.&gt;  </em></p>
<p>                Instead, she snarled and turned her head away from him. </p>
<p>                Crowley chuckled.  “I like your spirit, kid.” </p>
<p>                Marian felt the bonds on her wrists release, and brought her arms down to rub the stinging sensation away. </p>
<p>                Crowley grabbed one of her wrists and pulled it closer to him, inspecting it.  His playful demeanor was gone, and he was all business.  “They hurt?”</p>
<p>                “Stings,” Marian said quietly, whimpering when he moved the joint too far in one direction. </p>
<p>                “Hmm.”  He released her arm.  “That reminds me, you have a tear in your obliques behind your rib cage.”</p>
<p>                Marian whimpered again and started to wriggle away when it looked like he was going to grab her breast; she stilled when Crowley shot her a warning look, and he placed his hand gently over her ribs.  She still jerked involuntarily when his power burnt into her, but when he removed his hand she was healed. </p>
<p>                “Shh,” he said softly, smoothing her hair back.  “Better?”</p>
<p>                She nodded. </p>
<p>                “Good.”  He kissed her temple, then sat up.  “Ready for a tour?”</p>
<p>                Marian felt too light-headed to get up, but didn’t think saying ‘no’ was an option.  “Tour?”</p>
<p>                Crowley was already on his feet.  “Of the house.  You can think of it as your prison, if that helps?  Or not.”  He shrugged. </p>
<p>                She sat up slowly, blinking away light and dark spots.  She must have been hyperventilating.</p>
<p>                “So this is your room, obviously,” the demon went on.  “Managed to get most of your things in, but if there’s anything you need just let me know.”</p>
<p>                Marian tried to get her head to stop spinning as she focused on the objects around her.  “My things?”  Yes, they were definitely hers: Her books, her clothes, the teddy bear she’d had since she was born… “Our house is warded.” </p>
<p>                “Ah, yes.  Against angels and demons.  Very good, very professional.  But I employ a number of people—you’d call them monsters—who aren’t of the angelic or demonic persuasion…”</p>
<p>                “You mean like…You had a vampire sneak into my house?”</p>
<p>                Crowley spread his hands wide.  “Equal opportunity, that’s me.”</p>
<p>                “Oh.”  Somehow, she’d never considered that monsters could help each other.  The ones she met tended to be every-man-for-himself types. </p>
<p>                “There’s a bathroom attached, of course,” he continued.  “Things have really come a long way since I was alive.  I’m still constantly surprised by human ingenuity.  A flask disguised as a tampon is, quite frankly, genius, but to fill it with holy water?  Most demons wouldn’t even &lt;<em>think&gt;</em> to check.”</p>
<p>                Marian’s face flushed bright red.  A vampire and a demon had sifted through her period stuff searching for contraband?  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood cautiously, leaning back against the mattress when her knees went wobbly.  Crowley noticed and offered his arm to her, like a gentleman, doing a real 180 from just moments ago.  Crowley being friendly was just as frightening as Crowley being mean, because she had no idea what he would do.  But she knew she didn’t have a choice, so she took his arm, and he easily supported her weight.  The room spun, and the air around her stung.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                She lost her balance as they reappeared, and she fell back against the demon.  He caught her in his arms, supernatural strength locking her in place, and she started to panic again. </p>
<p>                “You really don’t do well with that, do you,” he said, gently nudging her upright.  He stood behind her, hands on her waist to support her weight.  He snapped his fingers and the lights flicked on, illuminating the kitchen.  “I assume you have to eat like a normal human?”  She nodded, so he went on: “There’s not much in here that you’d find edible at the moment.  There’s mostly…Parts.  For spells.”  He gestured and the fridge opened, showcasing a variety of what were, indeed, parts.  Hearts, livers, half-cleaned skulls, jars of fluid, and other mystery substances were stacked in labeled Tupperware.  Marian was used to finding the occasional organ or jar of blood in the fridge, but this was a bit much.  The most disturbing part was that many of the bits looked suspiciously &lt;<em>human&gt;</em>. </p>
<p>                “Anyway,” he said, and the fridge shut itself, “There are a few things in the cupboards that you should find agreeable.  Just write a list and leave it on the fridge, and I’ll get you whatever you want.  Ah…And you might want to clean out the oven before using it.”</p>
<p>                Before she had a chance to ask about the oven, he’d shifted her so that she was holding his arm again, and they were off to the next room.  On foot, thankfully. </p>
<p>                “Front door—&lt;<em>do not go outside&gt;</em>.  You’ll be safe as long as you stay inside, but I can’t make that guarantee if you leave.  You’ll be visible to other demons and supernatural entities, and now that everything knows what you are, you’re going to be very popular.  They won’t be as friendly as me if they catch you.  Do you understand?”</p>
<p>                Marian nodded.  As far as she could tell from the windows, they were surrounded by woods.  If anything caught her out there, she wouldn’t stand a chance.</p>
<p>                “Living room…Never had much use for it,” he said, walking into a completely empty room.  They carried on.  “Sort of an office in here.”  They walked into the home library she’d seen briefly earlier.  There was a large wooden desk overflowing with scrolls and papers.  “I try to get my paperwork taken care of up here if I can.  I spend enough time in Hell as it is.”</p>
<p>                “Are these…All yours?”</p>
<p>                “No.  They’re the recent deals from all the crossroads demons.  I review them, make sure everything’s in order.  Every now and then there’ll be an issue—two demons making a deal with the same soul, trying to steal a contract, or working a conflict of interest—make a deal for someone’s cheating wife to die, but before they kill them make a deal with the wife to have the husband die, for example.  They think they can collect on both souls then, but the second contract negates the first, and it’s…”  He waved a hand in the air.  “Complicated.”</p>
<p>                Marian looked around the room, taking in rows of filing cabinets and books with Latin and even Enochian titles.  Was &lt;<em>her&gt;</em> contract here somewhere? </p>
<p>                “If something happened to the paperwork, would that affect the actual deal?”</p>
<p>                Crowley glanced down at her in surprise, then smiled.  “You mean, would your contract disappear if you set the paper on fire?”  Marian blanched and he chuckled.  “No.  The paper’s just an easy way to track what everyone’s doing.  Otherwise I’d have to visit each individual soul to verify their deal, and even &lt;<em>Hell&gt;</em> doesn’t have time to waste doing that.”</p>
<p>                The tour continued down in the basement, which had the usual devices homeowners should worry about like a furnace and circuit breakers.  Things Marian might need to use when Crowley was away, and that would be quite a bit since he still had more than a full-time job managing crossroads deals.  What was unusual about this basement was the rest of it.</p>
<p>                It was a torture room.  There was no other way to describe it.  The cement floor was stained black with dried blood.  There was a table that could have held Frankenstein’s monster, with straps to hold down a person’s neck, chest, arms, and legs.  It was also stained.  And there were shelves and hooks along the wall, full of various pointy things, many of which Marian had seen before and some that were new to her.  One or two items, she was fairly certain, had been stolen from Heaven, which was just as big on torturing its enemies as Hell but less creative. </p>
<p>                There was a rat underneath the table, chewing on a human finger.</p>
<p>                “Don’t mind the rats, they keep the place clean,” Crowley said when he noticed her staring at it.  “Anyway, you shouldn’t have to come down here unless something goes wrong with the power.”  He raised an eyebrow suggestively.  “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”</p>
<p>                She shook her head, one eye still on the rat.  &lt;<em>How fresh was the finger?  And where was the rest of the body?</em>&gt;</p>
<p>                Crowley brought her back to her room.  There was nothing else of interest upstairs, just a few empty bedrooms.  Crowley had no use for a bedroom himself: he didn’t have to sleep (he could if he wanted to, but that just made him vulnerable to other demons), and he never brought anyone, demon or human, back to his safehouses for sex.  It just wasn’t worth the risks. </p>
<p>                “I have a few little errands to attend to,” he told her, sitting her back down on her bed.  “I should only be gone for a few hours, but you never know with Hell.”  He pulled an old coin from his pocket.  There was a small hole punched in one end, and a thin leather cord was strung through it.  “Are you familiar with this?”</p>
<p>                She turned the coin over in her hand.  “It’s one of those coins that lets you spy on people, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>                “It can be used for that, yes.  I have the other one here,” he said, producing another.  It looked the same, but without the hole.  “It’s like a little microphone; I can hear whatever you say when you have it.  But you can use it like a telephone too: If you want to get my attention, tap it three times and it will make a little chiming sound.  Otherwise, I’ll likely just ignore it as background noise.  Contact me if anything tries to get into the house.  If a demon does get inside, there’s a devil’s trap in the spare room down the hall to the left.”</p>
<p>                Marian slipped the cord around her neck, nodding her understanding. </p>
<p>                “Be a good little angel while I’m gone,” Crowley purred, half mocking and half deadly serious.  He grabbed the back of her neck before she could back away from him and kissed the top of her head, then vanished.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                &lt;<em>So this is your life now</em>,&gt; Marian sighed, inspecting her new room.  Instead of being bossed around by dozens of angels, she had to answer to one demon.  At least with the angels, it wasn’t &lt;<em>personal&gt;.  </em>And it certainly was never sexual.  This was entirely too personal and sexual and every other -al she didn’t want to think about.  But her friends and family were alive, along with six thousand other people, and no one else would be threatened because of her.  So it was worth it. </p>
<p>                It was worth it, right?</p>
<p>                She turned on the TV that had been so graciously transferred from her old home, and was surprised to discover that Crowley got cable.  Maybe he liked keeping tabs on all the celebrities he had deals with?  There were probably a lot of sports stars that hadn’t gotten to the top on their own, and she knew for a fact that several high-profile musicians and actors had visited a crossroads in the past.  A lot of musicians did have drug and alcohol problems, for sure, but their “overdoses” were often coverups for a hellhound collecting on a deal.  Marian flipped through the channels, finding nothing of interest, and left it tuned to <em>Scooby Doo</em> cartoons just to have something familiar in the background. </p>
<p>                Her books had been arranged in the same order she’d left them, though she could tell from the way the pages were fluffed out that they’d been rifled through.  All of the crosses were missing from her Bible collection, and the hollowed-out fake book entitled “<em>Priests of Passion</em>” was missing the fingerbone of a saint.  Her hunter’s journal was intact, as far as she could tell, though it seemed pointless to keep writing in it now.  What was she going to say?  ‘<em>Made deal with Crowley, now he owns me.  Do not recommend.’</em> </p>
<p>                In addition to her reference collection, she had a few fiction books as well.  <em>The Hobbit</em> and <em>The Lord of the Rings</em> were her favorites (she’d tried to read <em>The Silmarilian </em>once and decided human life was too short to deal with that), as was every book written by Terry Pratchett.  She pulled out <em>The Hobbit</em> and tossed it onto her bed; if she couldn’t eat comfort food, she could at least comfort-read. </p>
<p>                She opened her dresser drawers, and the first thing she noted was that all of the weapons she normally stowed under her shirts and socks were missing.  She’d expected as much.  All of her underwear was present and accounted for, which was a bit mortifying when she thought about a vampire <em>and</em> a demon pawing through it.  There was the period-stain underwear, because bodily functions didn’t always operate on schedule; the ‘normal’ underwear; and the ‘sexy’ underwear, which consisted of two thongs she’d bought back when she’d first become sexually active.  She’d found the thongs uncomfortable and impractical for hunting, and hadn’t worn them in years, but here they were anyway, folded neater than she’d ever done and tucked into her drawer like a couple of pervy supernatural beings hadn’t just checked them out. </p>
<p>                The bathroom was nice—no mold, which was a step up from the place she and her hunter friends had.  There was no lock on the door, which was a bit unsettling until she remembered that Crowley could just port inside if he wanted to, so there was no such thing as privacy anymore, &lt;<em>at all</em>.&gt;  Great.  Well, since he was going to be out for a while, and she was covered in dried dirt and blood from her previous fight, she might as well take a shower. </p>
<p>                The shower was nice: Tile walls, with a rain-type shower head.  There was a separate whirlpool bathtub that looked big enough for two people.  &lt;<em>Please don’t let it be for two people</em>,&gt; Marian thought, and suddenly the bathroom didn’t seem nearly as nice as it had before.  Crowley might have said he wasn’t going to have sex with her right now, but the implication was clear that he &lt;<em>could</em>,&gt; plus there were a hell of a lot of other things that could be done to a person that weren’t, strictly speaking, sex, and demons took pride in knowing all of them. </p>
<p>                With her mind now lodged firmly on how Crowley was going to make her life a literal Hell, she cried through her shower and cried her way back to bed.  She didn’t have the mental capacity left to read, so she hugged her book to her chest like it was a stuffed animal and tried to focus on what Scooby and the gang were up to.  She was weeping openly until she remembered the spy-coin, and even though he had everything from her now she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was so upset.  She tried to cry quietly, eventually becoming so exhausted that she fell asleep. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>                Marian woke, aware of movement nearby.  Disoriented, she reached under her pillow for her gun, but it wasn’t there.  Something grabbed her shoulder and she twisted around, grabbing the only solid thing she could find to hit the intruder with, which happened to be a small book. </p>
<p>                “You’ve got a hunter’s reflexes, I’ll give you that,” Crowley said, grabbing her arm before she could hit him and plucking the book out of her hand.  “But you’re better off sleeping with a dictionary if that’s going to be your weapon of choice.”</p>
<p>                &lt;<em>Crowley&gt;.  </em>Right.  She was not in Kansas anymore, Toto.  She froze, wondering if he’d be mad that she tried to hit him, but he released her arm and patted her on the head like she was a dog that had done something stupid yet endearing.  He set <em>The Hobbit</em> down on a nightstand and turned off the TV with a flick of his wrist. </p>
<p>                Marian tried to see out the window: Was it still dark, or was the curtain just closed?  How long had she been asleep? </p>
<p>                “I’ve only been gone about…three hours, your time,” Crowley said, picking up her train of thought.  “I thought it might be hard on you, first night away from your little hunter friends and all that, so I didn’t want you to be alone.”  A predatory smile spread across his face and there was a red glint in his eye as he slid into the bed next to her. </p>
<p>                Marian scooted back, but it was a full-size bed and she didn’t get very far before her back hit the wall.  Crowley laid down on his side, propped up on an elbow. </p>
<p>                “Am I really that frightening?  Come here, angel.”  He motioned for her to come closer.  “No forking tonight, just spooning.  I promise.”</p>
<p>                That was…An interesting way of putting things.  She scooted forward nervously, like he’d reach out and bite her if she got too close.  The look in his eye said &lt;<em>I’m amused by this now, but the instant you stop playing along there will be a problem&gt;,</em> so she swallowed her pride along with a lump in her throat and closed the rest of the distance between them, laying down with her back to him.  She fought down the urge to struggle away from him when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. </p>
<p>                His hand strayed down to her hip, then up her side, and it took every ounce of will she had left not to elbow him in the gut and smack his evil demon face, but that will shattered when he grabbed her breast.  She snarled like a werewolf, elbowing him as she twisted to face him, swatting his hand away as she moved, and drawing a fist back to strike.</p>
<p>                “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Crowley said calmly.  </p>
<p>                Her snarling disposition dissolved as she looked up at his face and saw the demon inside.  She’d seen demons as an angel, and they were no more disturbing than finding gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, but as a human—as a helpless human with no weapons that had to do as the demon said—demons were terrifying.  She lowered her arm and turned away from him again, her back against his chest. </p>
<p>                “Good girl,” Crowley purred, gently squeezing one breast, then the other.  Marian bit her lip so hard she drew blood and dug her nails into her palms.  Crowley kissed the side of her neck and murmured into her ear: “Never forget that I own you, angel.  &lt;<em>All&gt;</em> of you.”</p>
<p>                Marian nodded miserably and buried her face in her pillow.  Screw six thousand people; she should have let them die. </p>
<p>                Crowley stopped molesting her, moving his hand up to smooth her hair back.  “Sorry, love.  Torturing you is just too much fun.”  He was quiet for a moment, watching her curl into herself as he petted the top of her head.  “Are you rethinking our deal already?”</p>
<p>                Could he read her mind?  Or did he just know he’d pushed her well beyond her comfort zone?  She wasn’t going to respond, but then she realized he would just harass her until she gave him an answer anyway, so she nodded. </p>
<p>                He chuckled.  “That didn’t take long.  I suppose I should back off, then, if I don’t want to lose you.” </p>
<p>                He snapped his fingers and Marian’s radio/cassette player turned on, quietly playing her favorite tape: An acapella group called <em>The Diners</em> that one of her hunter friends was in.  She normally found the songs soothing, but now there was something bittersweet about them, knowing she’d never see any of those people again. </p>
<p>                She tensed as Crowley wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against him.  She felt him shift slightly, lowering his head onto the pillows.  He relaxed his hold on her, but she had a feeling he would tighten his arm like a vice if she tried to move away. </p>
<p>                “Sleep, angel.”</p>
<p>                Marian felt the slight sting of demonic power surround her, but it wasn’t as bad this time.  It even felt…Kind of relaxing.  All of her nerves and anxiety began to melt away.  Slowly, the tension in her muscles released and she drifted off to sleep. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>                When she woke in the morning, Crowley was gone.  She didn’t know if he was &lt;<em>actually&gt;</em> gone, off buying souls, or just lurking around the place, invisible.  What if she took all her clothes off to change and he suddenly appeared right in front of her?  It seemed like the kind of thing he’d do.  On the other hand, she couldn’t wear the same clothes forever, and he’d already demonstrated he could just make her clothes disappear if he wanted to.  She opted to change as fast as humanly possible, like there was a hellhound on the other side of her door and it was gnawing its way through. </p>
<p>                Adrenaline spiked already, she ventured downstairs, bringing <em>The Hobbit </em>with her as a security blanket.  &lt;<em>Bilbo snuck into a dragon’s den, I can handle one demon</em>,&gt; she told herself.  &lt;<em>He was caught by trolls, fought giant spiders, and sort of cheated Gollum at riddles, so…I can handle unwanted sexual advances that I’m not allowed to protest.  Right.  No big deal.&gt;  </em></p>
<p>                Crowley was in his office, looking bored as he read over a long scroll.  There was a bowl of blood on his desk that he seemed to be arguing with as well.          </p>
<p>                “You left the wording open-ended, so just handle it and learn for the next one.  Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll fall off the stage and break his neck before his time’s up.”  He paused, listening.  “No.  We don’t do that sort of thing.  Even Hell has to have &lt;<em>some&gt;</em> integrity.”  He glanced up and saw Marian in the doorway.  “I have to go.  Look—help yourself out.  Boost his intelligence and he may be able to stay afloat on his own.”  Pause.  “You said you’d make him a rich and famous musician, it doesn’t matter how.  There’s nothing in his contract about staying as dumb as a pile of bricks, so you might as well change it.  I’m disconnecting.”  He waved a hand over the blood and set the scroll down, smiling up at Marian. </p>
<p>                “I’m sorry, if you’re working I can—”</p>
<p>                Crowley stood up, crossing in front of his desk.  “Work is dreadful.  I’d much rather have your company.”  He motioned for her to come closer; she hesitated, and the mischievous glint in his eyes turned threatening; she stepped forward, her posture low and hunched. </p>
<p>                “I do have to leave you again.  I probably won’t be back until late tonight; it’s always a long day in the office when you work for Hell.  Anyway,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her around to one side of the desk, “I have a job for you.  It’s not the most interesting thing in the world, but it’s something you know how to do, and it should keep you busy for a while.”  He motioned to a stack of newspapers.  “I want you to hunt.  These papers are from all over the world; if you don’t know a language, I can…Get you to know it.  I don’t need to know about every ghost haunting every small town in the Midwest, but I like to keep tabs on the big boys: Large groups of vampires, packs of werewolves, that sort of thing.  And of course I like to know what other demons are up to.  Someone’s always looking to take my job or cheat the system.  Keep your friends close and your enemies…Blah, blah, blah.”  He cocked his head.  “Well, if I &lt;<em>had&gt;</em> friends…Anyway.  You don’t have to work all day.  It’s just a little project so you don’t go insane all by yourself.” </p>
<p>                Crowley left to attend to business, and Marian was on her own again.  Braving the fridge of mystery bits, she found some packaged bacon and a carton of eggs that clearly came from a chicken.  There was a loaf of bread on the counter, and a jar of raspberry jam in the cabinet, so she was able to make herself a decent and perfectly normal breakfast.  She even found a kettle and what she hoped to God was black tea (it was).  She sat down with a stack of papers, pen, and scissors, and went to work.</p>
<p>                It felt good to be doing what she normally did.  Granted, she wouldn’t be able to run out and hunt things, but she could at least keep an eye on what was out there and what it was doing.  And it was kind of cool seeing papers from all over the world: Big American cities like New York, Los Angeles, and Boston; major international hubs like Paris, London, Sydney, and Tokyo; then there was news from small towns in Russia, Brazil, and India, places she’d never heard of but were evidently infested with supernatural beings judging from the headlines.  One Indian town was at its wits end with the paranormal: “Council votes to hire Christian leaders to eradicate nuisance spirits after traditional means fail.”</p>
<p>                She found a few items that looked demonic, and there were 33 suspicious deaths in Manilla, Philippines, involving partial decapitation and missing spines (the victims were basically spatchcocked like turkeys) that had to be the work of some supernatural being she hadn’t encountered yet. </p>
<p>                Marian was half-asleep, curled up in bed and several chapters into <em>The Hobbit </em>when Crowley returned around 10 pm.  She jolted awake when he slid into bed next to her, tensing immediately. </p>
<p>                “Thanks to the utter &lt;<em>incompetence&gt;</em> of my compatriots, I got to kill a bloody angel today,” he growled, setting her book aside.  “I hope it wasn’t a friend of yours.”</p>
<p>                Crowley lay down on his side, but something seemed off: His breathing was labored, and his jaw was clenched.  He smelled…Coppery, like dried blood. </p>
<p>“What happened?”</p>
<p>                “An utterly &lt;<em>brainless&gt;</em> demon tried to make a deal with a priest.  I’ve done it before; it’s a bit of a rush, I suppose.  So many of them are corrupt, or pedophiles—anyway, this demon chose the wrong priest.  Not one of the corrupt ones.  The man &lt;<em>prayed&gt;</em> about it, an angel heard him, and they set a trap.  What the priest didn’t know was that this utter &lt;<em>pillock&gt;</em> was so damn proud of himself for bagging a priest, he bragged about his upcoming deal to a bunch of other demons, who all showed up to watch—some because they thought he’d fail, and some because they thought he wouldn’t.  And idiot that &lt;<em>I&gt;</em> am, thought I should be nearby, because this guy was either going to be competition or a liability and I like to keep track of both.  Now, the priest couldn’t see the other demons, but the angel sure as hell could.  He took out all the other demons, which was a favor really, but I can’t stand for angels taking out our own.  I got him, &lt;<em>and</em> the priest, but not before he took a chunk out of me.”  He gestured to a wet spot on his black shirt, which Marian now realized was blood.  The shirt had a tear right across his chest, revealing a gash about eight inches long. </p>
<p>                “Can’t you heal it?”</p>
<p>                He shook his head.  “Angel blade.  If it had cut any deeper, it could’ve killed me.”  Then he shrugged, like it was no big deal. </p>
<p>                And then she had to ask.  “Do—do you know who the angel was?”</p>
<p>                “The priest called him Tambriel.”  He cocked his head to the side.  “You knew him?”</p>
<p>                “I know who he was.  We weren’t close.”</p>
<p>                Crowley seemed to like her response; he smiled and petted her head. </p>
<p>                “Should, uh…Do you want me to clean it for you?  So you don’t bleed on everything?  Do you have bandages?”</p>
<p>                He looked surprised at her offer, then smiled.  “Of course I have bandages, love.  What fun is torturing people if you can’t patch them back up so you can torture them again?”  He snapped his fingers and a rusty metal box appeared between them.  He stretched out on his back, looking far too relaxed for someone with a wound of that caliber.  For a demon, Marian supposed, anything short of decapitation was no more distressing than a paper cut after what they went through in Hell.  This was a really bad paper cut. </p>
<p>                “Never had anyone treat an injury on me before,” he said, watching with amused interest as she sorted through the old first aid kit, putting aside the things she wanted. </p>
<p>                “What about when you were human?” Marian asked, trying to find a roll of tape that was still sticky on one side.</p>
<p>                “Hah.  Not likely.  When I was about…Twelve…I fell off a horse and dislocated my shoulder.  I also broke the wooden box I was carrying, which was important to my mother.  She was so cross at me for letting it break, she told me to shove my own shoulder back into place.”  His brow furrowed.  “Not sure why I remember that now…”</p>
<p>                Marian reached out to touch the buttons on his shirt, but hesitated.  Undressing him, and on a bed, seemed too sexual.  But she’d offered to help him.  &lt;<em>Why had she offered to help him</em>?&gt;  Oh, right—because otherwise he would have gotten blood all over her and the bed.  She cleared her throat and shifted away from him.  “I should get a washcloth…”</p>
<p>                Before she could get off the bed, a bowl of hot water and a little stack of washcloths appeared. </p>
<p>                “…Ah.”</p>
<p>                Crowley smiled.  “Do hunters always pamper themselves like this?”</p>
<p>                She started undoing the buttons on his dress shirt, her hands hardly shaking at all.  “Well, we can’t just ‘magic’ it away.  And we have to worry about stuff like infections.”</p>
<p>                “Ah, yes.  Had a mate die from an infected toenail…Lost his foot, but it was too late at that point.  Humans really have come a long way since then.”  He seemed to notice Marian struggling with his shirt.  “I appreciate the level of care, but you might as well just tear it—it’s already ruined.”</p>
<p>                Marian hesitated, so Crowley tore it open the rest of the way himself, sending buttons flying.  He then ripped his undershirt off like it was nothing.</p>
<p>                The cut looked worse now that she could get a good look at it.  If she looked at it just right, she thought she could see the red glow where the angel blade had injured the demon itself.  She dipped a washcloth into the water, wrung it out, and carefully began to clean the dried blood from the perimeter of the wound.  Crowley twitched at the initial contact, then relaxed, closing his eyes.</p>
<p>                “Hmm,” he purred, “This is nice.  Like a day at the spa…”  He smirked.  “Do I get a happy ending, too?”</p>
<p>                Marian froze, her breath caught in her throat. </p>
<p>                “It was a joke, angel.” </p>
<p>                Marian sniffled and turned her head away, trying to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes.  It was so easy to forget that he could make her do &lt;<em>anything</em>,&gt; whenever he wanted, and she could say ‘no’ but it would cost her more than she was willing to pay.  She had panicked at the thought of having to give him a blow job, but…He was kidding?  And he was being…Nice?  Was she being forced into sexual acts or not? </p>
<p>                There was a lump in her throat and she couldn’t form a reply, but she forced herself to keep cleaning his wound.  First-aid was such a common part of her life that she could do it automatically, without much thought.  Once she’d cleared the dried blood from his chest and made sure there was no debris inside the cut, she bandaged and taped it.  As long as she focused on her work, she could maintain her composure…</p>
<p>                As she smoothed the last piece of tape in place, she felt Crowley’s hand on her cheek.  For a second she thought he was going to push her head down toward his crotch and demand she give him a happy ending anyway.  Instead, he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away tears she didn’t realize she’d shed.  She sniffled again, wanting to move away from him but knowing it would make him angry if she did.  It just made her feel so &lt;<em>weak</em>,&gt; crying in front of him.  She’d thought she could at least &lt;<em>act&gt;</em> strong, the whole ‘you can break me, but you can never break my spirit’ thing, but evidently that wasn’t happening.  Apparently, he could break all of her. </p>
<p>                With a wave of his free hand, Crowley removed the medical supplies from the bed.  He gently manipulated her so that she was lying down facing him, and he was on his side facing her.  She hid as much of her face as she could in her pillow, too ashamed of her own weakness to look at him. </p>
<p>                “Shh.  It’s alright.  You’re alright.”  Crowley spoke softly, rubbing circles in her back.  It felt…Nice.  Comforting.  Intimate.  At the same time, it was confusing and frightening: Coming from a demon, a gentle touch felt like a ruse, to be replaced later with harsher punishment.</p>
<p>                Right now, though, she needed comfort, and it wasn’t like worrying about what came next would make it any easier for her.  She rolled toward him slightly, so that her body was now at a 45-degree angle with the bed, drawing herself closer to him while exposing more of her back.  Crowley hummed his approval, continuing the gentle massage.  Marian gradually relaxed under his touch, eyes and nose dry at last.  Had he been human, his arm would have gotten tired, but the demon seemed to have no issue with maintaining the motion for quite some time.  He was being incredibly patient, she realized, which shouldn’t even be possible. </p>
<p>                He ran his hand all the way up her back and into her hair, massaging her head.  It made her feel all tingly.  “Mmm,” she sighed, then realized she made a noise and blushed furiously.</p>
<p>                Crowley chuckled and kissed the top of her head.  “Not so bad for a demon, am I?”  He thought the question over, and added “…At the moment.”  That, at least, earned a small smile from his captive. </p>
<p>                She tensed when he grabbed her hip, but he just wanted her to roll onto her opposite side, so she could be the little spoon again.  He slid his arm around her waist as he had the previous night, and she held her breath, expecting to be groped again.  Thankfully, though, he didn’t seem inclined to move this time, and she sighed in relief, her breathing returning to normal. </p>
<p>                “You’re so adorably uptight, angel,” Crowley said, the heat from his breath hitting the back of her neck.  “You may have been a great warrior back in the day, but without your mojo or your weapons you’re just a frightened little rabbit.  I love it.”  He drew a blanket up over her shoulders, then returned his arm to her waist.  “But while I’ll never tire of seeing an angel break down before me, it is a bit…Counter-productive.  Such an easy target, though—if I so much as &lt;<em>suggest&gt;</em> ravaging you, you go into a complete panic—”  He pulled her tighter against him and chuckled as she tensed automatically.  “…But I want you to be happy,” he said, relaxing his grip.  “As…Difficult a concept as that is.  If I can make you happy, you might decide you like me after all.”</p>
<p>                Marian didn’t know what to say to that.  Crowley certainly knew, in theory at least, how to make people happy: He’d been doing it for centuries (for a price).  But he also knew how to make people miserable, and he took a lot more pleasure in the latter.  He’d also hurt and even killed her fellow hunters in the past, so…Yeah, the whole ‘falling in love and producing a world-ending nephilim’ scheme still felt a little far-fetched.  Saying any of that out loud would only anger him, so she stayed silent. </p>
<p>                “I should take you out sometime.  If you could go anywhere—anywhere in the world—where would you want to go?”</p>
<p>                “…What?”</p>
<p>                “If there’s one thing more fun than torturing people, it’s showing off, and I so rarely get to do that these days.  You’ve been around the world, but you’ve been stuck in the trenches, darling.  Where have you always wanted to go?  Paris?  Tokyo?  Rome?  I could take you to the Vatican; I know my way around.”</p>
<p>                She twisted her head around to look at him incredulously.  “You have not done deals at the Vatican!”</p>
<p>                “It’s not just priests that are corrupted,” he replied with a smug smile.  “Despite what they tell people, more Catholics are in line for Hell than Heaven, and that goes all the way to the top.”</p>
<p>                That didn’t surprise her as much as it should have.  Humans were just as rotten as angels, and the more power they had, the more rotten they seemed to get. </p>
<p>                “So?” the demon prompted, “Where would you like to go?”</p>
<p>                She shifted so she was facing away from him again.  “…I don’t think you’d like it very much.”</p>
<p>                “I could vacation at the bloody North Pole and it would be fantastic compared to a day in Hell.  Please, enlighten me.”</p>
<p>                Marian sighed.  “New Zealand.” </p>
<p>                “Hmm.  And what’s the draw for you there?”  He rested his chin on her shoulder.</p>
<p>                “Everything.  I went, back when…Well, I wasn’t human.  The first Polynesian settlers were just arriving, and the land was a lot different then.  There were birds absolutely <em>everywhere</em>—they filled every ecological niche, since the only mammals before people arrived were bats.  There were even these huge, ostrich-like birds, called Moa.  The Maori hunted them to extinction, so they don’t exist anymore, but they were big enough that a grown man could ride one.  And there were these little lizards with three eyes—Tuatara.  They’re <em>almost </em>extinct now, and the third eye is covered up, but you can still see them in zoos sometimes.  But the <em>mountains</em>—the mountains are amazing.  It would be impossible to make a live-action <em>Lord of the Rings</em> movie and do the books any justice, but if someone tried, they would film it in New Zealand.  I would love to go hiking…Or see the botanical gardens.  It seems like every city has one now, and they’re open year-round.”</p>
<p>                Crowley chuckled.  “Someone’s been reading travel magazines in her spare time.”</p>
<p>                “I should have &lt;<em>something&gt;</em> to dream about other than hunting.”</p>
<p>                “Mmm.  All work and no play makes Jack a psychotic serial killer, sort of thing.  Alright; New Zealand it is.  I’ll iron out the details over the next few days, and we’ll take a little vacation.”  He kissed her shoulder and settled back into the mattress.  “Satan knows I could use one after today.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                Crowley wasn’t around much over the next couple days: apparently having multiple crossroads agents smote by an angel produced an ungodly (un-devil-ly?) amount of paperwork, which was ironic given that Hell &lt;<em>invented&gt;</em> paperwork.  He had to write up incident reports for each of them, take over all their contracts (which, on the plus side, meant more souls for him), and find less idiotic replacement demons for their respective sales areas.  Well, he had to find replacements, at least, even if they weren’t intelligent ones. </p>
<p>                That left Marian to herself, which was fine with her.  Crowley had gotten her all the supplies she requested for the kitchen, with the exception of salt, which she would have to ask him about later (could she really cause problems with one little box of table salt?  Really?  She just wanted to season her food).  She could cook and bake and look for monsters in the news, and it all felt strangely normal, just like back home but without her friends as roommates.  Crowley still showed up at night, but she was getting used to that too.  She would ask him about his day, like he was a regular person just getting home from work, and he would complain about Hell and demons for a little while, then brag about his accomplishments.  In turn, he would ask about &lt;<em>her&gt;</em> day, which was a lot less interesting and much less violent.  She mentioned any oddities from the news that might be important (she always left a little pile on his desk, too, but it was nice having something to talk about after being alone all day) and anything just plain crazy she’d read, like the man who’d been arrested in Miami for bringing a ten-foot-long alligator onto the bus and trying to tell people it was a service animal.  He was found by police to be intoxicated. </p>
<p>                Marian also broached the subject of salt.  “Just, like, <em>half</em> a box,” she asked.  “It really does make a difference.  I couldn’t do anything with half a box of salt, and if I did it would violate the contract anyway, so there’s really nothing for you to worry about.”</p>
<p>                “Alright,” Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes.  “You can have your salt.”  He snapped his fingers.  “It’s in the kitchen, and it stays in the kitchen.”  His eyes darkened dangerously.  “Use it responsibly.”</p>
<p>                She scooted closer to him and turned away, pressing her back into his chest.  “Thank you.” </p>
<p>                The demon smiled; after only a few nights, she was already cuddling up to him on her own.  Hunters might be notoriously pig-headed and stubborn, but angels were used to taking orders, and easy to train; even the more rebellious models.  Everything was going according to his plan. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***********</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                To prepare for her “vacation,” Marian slept most of the day, to make up for the time change, and when Crowley came home at night from work they headed out.  He ported them to the Wellington botanical gardens.  It was summer in New Zealand, and everything was alive and blooming and absolutely fantastic.  For Marian, it was the first time she’d been outdoors in over a week, and it was all a bit overwhelming. </p>
<p>                Crowley offered her his arm and she took it. </p>
<p>                “I can’t believe I’m really here,” she whispered.  Other people were wandering by and she didn’t want to make a scene in front of them.  “This is amazing.”</p>
<p>                “Shall we explore?” Crowley said, looking oddly relaxed.  Marian knew he must be on full alert for demons and other things, but he looked as cool as a cat basking in the sun.  &lt;<em>I guess he does like showing off&gt;</em>, she thought. </p>
<p>                He let her take the lead, and they wandered for hours.  Marian was instantly in love with everything, from the flowers to the trees to all the different birds flitting around.  Ducks waddled across the paths, little fuzzy ducklings in tow.  Bellbirds and tui flitted around above their heads, and little finches hopped in between their feet and scratched at the mulch in the flowerbeds.  She glanced at Crowley often, worried that he was bored and anticipating that he’d tell her they had to leave, but he would just give her a little smile and nod for her to keep having fun.</p>
<p>                Her favorite place was the indoor garden.  It was like a giant greenhouse, full of the more delicate plants that couldn’t survive a Wellington winter.  There were clusters of beautiful houseplants everywhere.  Orchids and pitcher plants hung from the ceiling.  There was even a little pond, with flowering waterlilies and enormous lily pads big enough to hold a human baby.  She had no idea how long she’d been on her feet for, walking up and down the hilly gardens, but her feet were tired and she was hungry.  She sat down on the edge of the pond and watched koi swimming over coins. </p>
<p>                Crowley sat down next to her and rubbed the small of her back.  “Hungry?”</p>
<p>                Marian nodded.  She felt the familiar tingly burn of demon energy and the world shifted around her. </p>
<p>                They were standing in front of a café in a small business district.  The district was so small that she could look both ways and see the beginning and end of it: this was not Wellington anymore. </p>
<p>                “Stewart Island,” Crowley explained.  “Just off the south of the South Island—but I’m sure you’ve read all about it.”</p>
<p>                She had.  The island was mostly undeveloped, with a few multiday bushwalking trails for hikers who didn’t mind getting mud up to their thighs and sandflies in their ears.  Introduced predators, like housecats and Australian possums, hadn’t invaded here like they had on the mainlands, so native wildlife was able to thrive.  As a waitress showed them to a table, Marian caught sight of birds she hadn’t even read about.  A pigeon almost the size of a chicken sat perched on a railing, taking off as they walked past.  Crowley and Marian were seated outside on a deck that faced the ocean, and they were surrounded by birds.  Some were fearless enough to come right up to them, even landing on Marian’s arm (they kept their distance from Crowley, which just proves that not even birds are &lt;<em>that&gt;</em> stupid).  They stole sandwich crumbs from the ground and French fries right off their plates. </p>
<p>                Another tourist couple got up to leave, and the flock of birds that had been pestering them decided to come over and bother Marian.  There was a Paradise duck in among the little finches, and a strange little bird that she had only seen thousands of years ago.</p>
<p>                “It’s a Weka,” she said, keeping her voice down so as not to frighten all the birds off.  “They’re flightless like kiwis, but they’re diurnal and their beaks are shorter.  And they raise their young, which is why they aren’t almost extinct.  They’re still easy prey, though.”  She broke a fry in half, tossing one piece to the duck and the other to the Weka.  Then she remembered who she was talking to.  “I’m sorry, I keep talking about stupid stuff…”</p>
<p>                The demon waved away her concern.  “By all means, talk away.  I enjoy seeing you so…Animated.”</p>
<p>                She blushed and looked back down at the birds.  The Weka was trying to steal the zipper-pull on her purse.  “Hey, you!  That is attached!”  She grabbed her purse and dug to the bottom, fishing out a new penny.  “You want something shiny, steal this.”</p>
<p>                She held her hand out, palm flat, and the little brown bird strutted forward, eyed her for a moment, then snatched the penny out of her hand and ran away before any of the other birds could get a chance to take its prize.  Marian laughed.</p>
<p>                Crowley smiled.  “He’s smarter than half my employees, and twice as ambitious, I’ll give him that.”</p>
<p>                After lunch, he took her to an island that was literally just birds, then to a kiwi sanctuary where she got to see a two-day-old kiwi as well as a few injured adults that were unable to return to the wild.  There was also a tuatara, the ancient lizard with the covered third eye. </p>
<p>                “They really haven’t changed,” she whispered, looking at the dinosaur-aged creature.  “Just the extra eye is gone, but they can still see changes in light through the skin, so they can sense predators overhead.”</p>
<p>                “Would you call that ‘intelligent design?’” Crowley smirked, and she had to smile. </p>
<p>                They spent the late afternoon touring Te Papa, the national museum, back in Wellington.  Marian loved learning about what the Maori had been up to since she’d been there last, as well as the natural history of volcanoes, earthquakes, and other large-scale events that had shaped the country.  There were models of extinct birds: Eagles the size of the ones in <em>The Hobbit</em> that could have picked up a grown man, and penguins as tall as her.  Everything had been bigger, it seemed. </p>
<p>                Crowley was amusing himself by pointing out all the famous explorers and politicians that had sold their souls or otherwise done something very bad to wind up in Hell.  He also enjoyed the section on Maori weapons and warfare, which included videos of a few traditional hakas. </p>
<p>                “Beats the hell out of bloody bagpipes and a kilt,” he grumbled.  “It’s no wonder Scotland hasn’t done much for itself in the last few hundred years.”</p>
<p>               </p>
<p>                Dinner was a quick blink to Auckland, which also involved a magical wardrobe change into a little black dress.  Now she at least matched the formality of Crowley’s suit, but she felt more self-conscious and vulnerable.  They had a reservation at the Auckland Sky Tower, the gaudy centerpiece of the city that locals hated to look at but always brought their out-of-town friends to.  Like the Seattle space needle, it was a narrow tower with a flying saucer on top.  The restaurant revolved around the widest part, slowly letting diners experience a 360-degree view of the city. </p>
<p>                Now it felt like a real date, and Marian’s anxiety returned.  There were no birds to distract her, and she was forced to actually focus on Crowley if she didn’t want to be completely rude and stare out the window all night, which she had a feeling would get her in trouble later if she did. </p>
<p>                He was in full-on ‘charm the soul off a saint’ mode, acting the part of a complete gentleman.  It was a bit unnerving seeing him in his element, like watching a lion hunt while sitting on a sick zebra.  The only soul he wanted to charm at the moment was hers, though, so it was more like <em>being</em> the sick zebra and watching the lion come closer. </p>
<p>                But Crowley didn’t get to be King of the Crossroads without being the best, and soon Marian was falling under his spell, the sick zebra lying down in the grass because the lion was just so friendly, surely it wasn’t going to hurt &lt;<em>her</em>.&gt;</p>
<p>                He entertained her with stories about celebrities: Olympic athletes, musicians, actors and politicians he’d “worked with” over the years; and if anyone else was listening, the only thing they would have found odd was that some of the subjects had passed away a long time ago. </p>
<p>                As the restaurant rotated, they were able to see one of Sky Tower’s other attractions: the Sky Drop.  It was a controlled bungee jump, which kept the jumper in line so as to not smack into the side of the tower.  A few daredevils were taking the plunge at night, with only the building’s spotlights and a headlamp to illuminate their jump.  Marian had been in a few high places on hunts, and she was not a fan, but she knew a few hunters who would have loved the experience. </p>
<p>                She watched a tall young man get strapped into a harness and walk over to the jump-off point.  He had a few friends watching him from behind a glass viewing station, and though she couldn’t hear them she could tell they were shouting words of encouragement.  They looked more nervous than he did.  His instructor, harnessed as well now that they were on the outside of the building, motioned for him to step to the edge of a platform.  He gave a countdown, and the man leapt, seeming to hover in midair for a moment before plummeting out of sight.  Marian watched the bungees go taut for what seemed like forever, then loosen as he rebounded.  After a few bounces, the man was reeled in like a fish, the biggest grin on his face.  He returned to the viewing window, and one of his buddies took his place.</p>
<p>                “Not your cup of tea?” Crowley asked.</p>
<p>                She shook her head.  “Not without wings.”  A sudden thought occurred to her, and all the color drained from her face.  “You weren’t planning to—you’re not making me—”</p>
<p>                “As entertaining as that would be, no, it’s not on the agenda,” he smiled.</p>
<p>                Marian laughed nervously.  “Oh.  Thank Go—uh, thank you.”  She watched the next man get suited up.  The harness had a lot of pieces to it that got threaded all up and through and around him; she wondered if anyone had ever done it wrong and lost a customer.  “Though it would be fun to come back here someday with Michael—he loves this stuff.”  She realized what she’d just said, and her mood plummeted faster than the bungee jumper.  “…I mean…I’m sure he’d like to come here with his friends.”  Of course, &lt;<em>she’d&gt;</em> never get to see him jump off the tower, or do anything else, for that matter.  There was no ‘coming back with friends’ for her, ever.  The finality of the thought was sobering.  She slumped back in her seat, watching as the bungee station slowly rotated out of view, hands fidgeting idly on the table.  &lt;<em>Stop it, Marian.  You’re not going to cry again.  Not now.  Not here.&gt;</em>  Words like ‘forever’ and ‘never’ kept swirling around in her brain, spiking her anxiety.  &lt;<em>You made the deal.  If you hadn’t, none of them would be alive today.  Just be grateful that Michael even has the chance to do something like this without you.&gt;</em></p>
<p>                She jumped when she felt a hand on hers.  She took a few deep, calming breaths and swallowed back the lump in her throat.  Crowley squeezed her hand and gave her a look that she couldn’t quite place.  He didn’t look angry, but…Frustrated?  Upset?  His features twitched like they were trying to form a new expression they weren’t familiar with.  Was she in trouble for what she said?  She hadn’t meant anything by it; it just slipped out. </p>
<p>                The waitress appeared with the check; Crowley paid, and they headed out.  Crowley ushered her into an empty elevator, but didn’t press any of the buttons.  Instead, he grabbed her shoulder and she braced herself for the odd sensation of porting. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>                She shook off the odd demonic tingly feeling and looked at where they’d ended up:  It looked like a rustic cabin.  It was basically just a nicer version of the motels she’d stayed at over the years: King-size bed with actual clean blankets instead of the grime-crusted full-size beds she was used to; a kitchenette with a toaster that wouldn’t catch fire the moment it was plugged in and a sink that didn’t drip; a bathroom with a tile shower; and a couch that faced a real fireplace. </p>
<p>                “Where are we?”</p>
<p>                “Queenstown.  Hotel.”  He sat down on the couch, pulling her down next to him.  The fireplace lit itself and a glass of Scotch appeared in his hand.  He leaned back in his seat and put his arm around her shoulders, basically forcing her to snuggle up to him.  Marian rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and put her feet up on the cushion next to her. </p>
<p>                “Thank you for today,” she said quietly. </p>
<p>                Crowley kissed the top of her head.  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, love.”  He took a sip from his drink and set it down so that he could pet her head.  “…Even if you would have enjoyed it more with someone else.”</p>
<p>                Marian felt her face flush; she ducked her head and hunched her shoulders.  He <em>was </em>upset about that comment, then.  “I—I didn’t—”</p>
<p>                “It’s alright, Marian.  You’re allowed to miss your friends.  I never said you had to forget about them.”</p>
<p>                Homesick and scared and thoroughly confused as to what she felt about everything, Marian couldn’t stop crying in front of the demon &lt;<em>again&gt;.</em>  At least she wasn’t blubbering like a baby, though she did have the occasional sniffle. </p>
<p>                “It’s really hard to hate you when you’re nice to me,” she mumbled, little more than a whisper.  The words were barely audible over the crackle of the fire.</p>
<p>                Crowley laughed.  “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he joked, ruffling her hair affectionately.  “There’s one more nice thing I can do for you tonight.”</p>
<p>                Marian tensed, assuming he was talking about something sexual.  He snapped his fingers and the cordless phone, which was sitting in the kitchenette, appeared in his hand.  Without bothering to enter any numbers, he hit the ‘call’ button and handed it to her.  Surprised, she just stared at it and listened to it ring.  There was a click, and someone answered.</p>
<p>                “<em>Hello?”</em></p>
<p>It was her best friend.</p>
<p>                Marion brought the phone up to her ear.  “Erica?”</p>
<p>                The line went silent.  She wondered if she’d been disconnected.  Then: “<em>Marian?</em>”</p>
<p>                She choked up immediately.  Tears pouring out of her eyes, nose running, she struggled to talk around the lump in her throat.  “Hey.  Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m talking to you!”</p>
<p>                Crowley stood and walked over to the kitchenette, leaving her with about fifteen feet worth of fake privacy and a box of tissues. </p>
<p>                “<em>Where are you?  Are you okay?  Did…Did you kill Crowley?”  </em>Erica spoke rapidly, not leaving Marian time to answer.  “<em>No, you can’t have, or I’d be dead.  Did…Holy shit.  He’s possessing you, isn’t he, the sick bastard.  Prank calling her friends at 7 am?  Real sophisticated, Crowley.  Why don’t you go back to hell, asshat?”</em></p>
<p>“N—no, I’m not possessed—”  Her emotions were running so wild that she nearly burst out giggling at Erica’s sudden and angry conclusion.  It also took her brain a moment to remember that, back home, it was the next morning already.  “I’m—”  She had to pause when her throat closed up again, “I’m okay.  I’m in New Zealand.  Just for right now—I won’t be for long—and he let me talk to you.”</p>
<p>                There was another pause as Erica thought things through.  “<em>Is he right there with you?”</em></p>
<p>                “Yeah.”</p>
<p>                “<em>Let me hear him, then.  To prove he’s not possessing you.”</em></p>
<p>                Marian sighed.  She would have done the same thing, had roles been reversed, but now it felt like overkill.  She held the phone up, and suddenly Crowley was right there next to her. </p>
<p>                “Hello, darling.  I see you’re still my number-one fan.”</p>
<p>                “<em>Go back to Hell, you pompous—”</em></p>
<p>“Okay, so we’ve proven I’m me,” Marian said, bringing the phone back to her ear hurriedly.  Crowley wandered away again, smirking.  “How are <em>you</em>?  How are things, you know…In the land of the living?”</p>
<p>                “<em>We’re all fine.  Getting ready to head out on a hunt right now.  Something’s been ripping people’s heads off and draining their blood; have you ever heard of anything like that?”</em></p>
<p>“No.  Have you called Rufus?”</p>
<p>                “<em>He doesn’t know either.  But we’ll figure it out.  Everything dies somehow.”</em></p>
<p>“Where?” said Crowley from right beside her.</p>
<p>                Marian jumped.  “What?”</p>
<p>                “Where are the attacks happening?”</p>
<p>                “<em>What the fuck, he can’t let us have one second of—”</em></p>
<p>“Just answer, Erica,” she sighed.</p>
<p>                “<em>…Salem, Oregon.”</em></p>
<p>                “It’s a Gashadokuro,” Crowley replied.  “A Japanese skeleton spirit.”  He gave Marian a smug smile when she looked at him in surprise.  “I told you, I like to keep track.  Everyone’s competition.”</p>
<p>                “<em>Japanese,</em>” Erica repeated.  “<em>So let me guess—I need to find a Shinto priest to bless a sword?</em>”</p>
<p>                “That should do the trick.”</p>
<p>                “<em>Not like I can trust him anyway, but I’ll do it.”</em></p>
<p>Marian glanced sideways at the demon.  “I don’t think he would give you the wrong answer on purpose.  That’s part of our deal.”  She didn’t sound 100% sure of herself. </p>
<p>                <em>“We’ll be careful.</em>”</p>
<p>                “Your ears will ring when it’s nearby,” Crowley added.</p>
<p>                “<em>…Thanks.  That’s…Helpful, actually.</em>”</p>
<p>                “Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t exist just to make your short little lives miserable.”</p>
<p>                Marian heard a horn honk in the background over the phone.  “<em>Shit.  Marian, I gotta go or they’ll leave without me.”</em></p>
<p>“Go.  Stay safe.  Tell everyone they’re not allowed to die or I’ll kick their asses.”  It was something they always said when one of them stayed behind on a hunt.</p>
<p>                “<em>Yeah, you too</em>.”</p>
<p>                The line clicked and she set the phone down.  She wasn’t sure if she felt better now that she’d talked to her friend, or just more homesick knowing that she couldn’t be there with her. </p>
<p>                Crowley sat down next to her and rubbed her back.  “Your friends will be fine.  Gashadokuro are notoriously hard to kill…I might be able to spare a few demons to keep an eye on them.”</p>
<p>                She looked up at him in surprise.  “But that’s…Not part of the deal.”</p>
<p>                “No.  But you’re only with me to keep them alive, yes?  If they all die of…Unnatural causes, that doesn’t give you much incentive to stay, does it?  I’m just covering all my bases.”</p>
<p>                It was either incredibly devious or generous, and coming from a demon she was leaning towards ‘devious,’ but she appreciated it nonetheless.  He’d let her speak to her friend, and now he was offering to protect them?  Marian leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, and wrapped her arms around him in what was possibly the world’s first angel-to-demon hug. </p>
<p>                Crowley was momentarily perplexed by the motion—was she trying to grab his angel blade?  But then he registered the concept of ‘hug,’ something that he’d watched other people do frequently but hadn’t understood the appeal in himself.  It was a display of affection, not aggression, he knew that much.  It felt…Good, he decided.  Like she cared about him.  Had anyone ever cared about him?  He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back:  that felt even better.</p>
<p>                “Mmm,” he purred, “I could get used to this.”</p>
<p>                Marian let go of him, pulling away from him like he’d just caught fire.  She’d just hugged him.  What the Hell was she thinking?  What if he thought she loved him now, and made her have sex with him? </p>
<p>                Crowley didn’t act phased by the sudden change; he stood up and pulled Marian to her feet after him.  “Why don’t you get changed up?  You have another big day ahead of you tomorrow.”  He nudged her toward the bathroom.</p>
<p>                “What are we doing tomorrow?”</p>
<p>                His mischievous smile returned.  “You’ll see.”</p>
<p>               </p>
<p>                When she emerged from the bathroom, Crowley was sitting in bed reading <em>The Fellowship of the Ring</em> where Marian had left her bookmark. </p>
<p>                “Did you ever think Tom Bombadil was a bit of an asshole for not just taking the Ring to Mordor himself?”</p>
<p>                Marian stopped at the edge of the bed and stared at him for a moment.</p>
<p>                “Yes,” she said at last.  “He could have taken an eagle and ended the whole thing in a week.”  She slid under the covers and rolled onto her side.  “But it wasn’t his war.  Which I still don’t really get, because he was <em>in</em> Middle Earth; if Sauron took over, he’d be affected too—”</p>
<p>                Crowley set the book aside and laid down, wrapping his arm around her waist like he always did.  “I’m sure Tolkien had his reasons.  Something about free will, maybe.”</p>
<p>                “Ugh.  I had that once, and look how well that worked out for me.”</p>
<p>                “Would you rather be fighting a war you don’t believe in with angels you disagree with?”</p>
<p>                Marian hesitated.  “They wanted us to wipe out all the forces of Hell, but we would wipe out half of humanity in the process.  ‘Casualties of war,’ Raphael said.”  She huffed angrily.  “But God never told us to go to war with demons.  He said we had our purpose and they had theirs.  He <em>told</em> us to protect humanity.  Just because he runs off on—on some millennia-long vacation or whatever, that shouldn’t change that.  So I…Brought up my concerns...”</p>
<p>                “And let me guess: He says, ‘if you like humans so much, why don’t you try being one?’”</p>
<p>                “Pretty much, yeah.  But other angels listened to me—enough of them that Raphael’s war never happened.  Otherwise, all of this…Well, everything…Wouldn’t be here.”</p>
<p>                “Mmm.  How very noble of you.”</p>
<p>                “I wasn’t <em>noble</em>, I was &lt;<em>pissed</em>.&gt;  Raph thought he could play God, but he was no better than Lucifer.  They’re all a bunch of assholes up there.”</p>
<p>                Crowley chuckled.  “Worse than demons, are they?”</p>
<p>                “Oh, demons are assholes too.  But they <em>know</em> what they are.  Angels think they’re God’s freaking gift to the universe.”</p>
<p>                “Hmm.  You’re not so bad, angel.”  His arm tightened around her waist and he nuzzled the back of her neck with his nose, his breath ghosting over her skin.  She shivered.  “Get some rest.  Tomorrow is another big day.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                They were up first thing in the morning and off to a local café for breakfast, then Crowley ported them to their first adventure.  Marian didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t a farm. </p>
<p>                “I assume you know how to ride?” Crowley asked.</p>
<p>                Marian stared at a field full of horses.  They were fat from grazing on grass all winter—most hadn’t been on a long trail ride since the fall.  “I’ve…Been on a horse.  Years ago.”</p>
<p>                “You’ll pick it back up.  It’s like falling off a bicycle, or however that goes.  Weren’t you one of those angels that rode into battle on a celestial horse?  The ones that spawned the legend of the Valkyrie?”</p>
<p>                She blushed.  “How did you—Anyway, that was thousands of years ago.”  She followed him up to the office inside a little farmhouse.  “And I’m not an angel anymore.”</p>
<p>                A cheerful, athletic woman led a black horse up to them.  It was larger than most of the others, and its hooves had long tufts of fur growing over them.  Somewhere in its lineage, a Clydesdale must have been bred into the mix.  It was the sort of horse that the Devil would be proud to ride into the Apocalypse on: Marian half-expected steam to come out its nose when it breathed.</p>
<p>                “This is Binky,” the woman said, patting his thick neck.  “He’s a big sweetheart, but he can be a little stubborn sometimes.”</p>
<p>                Binky got one whiff of Crowley and started to backtrack.  Crowley gave him a Look, and the horse went still, whinnying in displeasure.</p>
<p>                Marian glanced from one to the other.  “We’re…Sharing?”</p>
<p>                Crowley grinned and helped her onto the horse’s back.  “It’s a win-win, love.  You get to see your favorite country on horseback, and I get you in my lap for a few hours.”</p>
<p>                She grimaced.  Of course he’d found a way to turn something fun into another excuse to get handsy with her. </p>
<p>                Then again, he could have just kept her at home and gotten handsy with her.  At least the scenery was better here.</p>
<p>                Crowley sat behind her and hooked an arm loosely around her waist.  She supposed a demon didn’t have to worry much about falling off a horse.  Binky’s handler waved them off in the direction of a trail, and Marian took the reins, heading down toward a river.</p>
<p>                “How long has it been since <em>you </em>were on a horse?” Marian asked.   </p>
<p>                “I was human at the time, so…300 years, give or take.” </p>
<p>Despite the long hiatus, Crowley seemed more comfortable on the horse than Marian.  Perhaps it was because he didn’t have a demon that owned his soul sitting behind him, like she did.  His proximity was starting to make her skin crawl.</p>
<p>                He directed her to follow the river bank toward the trees that surrounded the farmland.  As soon as they were out of view of any prying human eyes, they vanished and reappeared on top of a mountain range, on a lush green tableland. </p>
<p>                Binky did not appreciate being ported.  He staggered backward, tossing his head and whinnying, and Marian’s knuckles went white clinging to the reins, afraid he was about to buck her off.  But Crowley said something to him in a strange language—it wasn’t English, and it wasn’t Enochian—and the horse settled, eyeing the demon warily. </p>
<p>                The view was spectacular.  They were almost completely surrounded by mountains, green with snow-capped tops, unmarred by humanity.  It was like being transported to Middle Earth.  Out in the open air, surrounded by the most beautiful country in the world, it was easy to forget that she wasn’t a celestial being anymore, and that she was, in fact, a completely powerless mostly-human who was owned by a very powerful demon that wanted to use her to produce a baby that would someday help the devil destroy the world.  Binky started to relax, and so did Marian, trying her best to ignore the arm around her waist that was attached to the demon pressed against her back.  She imagined she was Frodo, riding the pony Bill on a quest to destroy the One Ring.  Maybe Sam was riding with her, or Aragorn—or she was on Shadowfax with Gandalf.  Whoever was behind her, though, it definitely wasn’t Crowley.</p>
<p>                They returned to the farm around midday.  Evidently, riding took a lot more effort as a human than an angel: Marian’s legs were already sore, and she walked like she’d had one too many drinks.  Thankfully the afternoon’s activity was more stationary: A cruise around Milford Sound, one of the country’s greatest treasures. </p>
<p>                Marian stood along the ship’s railing, holding onto it in case her legs decided to fail her under the gentle rocking of the boat.  Crowley came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.  To anyone else on board, they must have looked like a regular couple. </p>
<p>                She could have pushed him away.  She could have shouted to everyone else that he’d abducted her, and—and then what?  He would just kill all of them, and she’d still be stuck with him, except now he’d be angry.  So there was really no point. </p>
<p>                A docent spoke through a speaker system about how the Sound was formed, the wildlife they could see, and more of its local history.  Seabirds flew around them, occasionally resting on the rails.  Seals played in the boat’s wake.  Inside on the lower level, they could watch fish through a glass floor. </p>
<p>                Some of the other tourists started up conversations with them, and at first Marian was afraid that Crowley would be annoyed or that she’d say the wrong thing; but he seemed perfectly at ease with everything.  It was too easy to forget that part of his occupation required him to blend in with humanity, and he did it well. </p>
<p>                “So, what do you do for work?” someone asked.</p>
<p>                “I’m in sales,” Crowley answered smoothly, “And she’s my assistant.”</p>
<p>                “Is it awkward, working for someone you’re dating?” a woman asked Marian. </p>
<p>                She blinked slowly, like a reptile.  “…My friends didn’t think it was a good idea,” she said, because she wasn’t clever enough to come up with an acceptable lie off the top of her head with Crowley <em>right there</em>.  “But we…Haven’t had any problems yet.”</p>
<p>                The woman launched off on a story about a friend who’d dated her boss and it had ruined her career and her personal life, but Marian could barely listen over the sound of her pulse in her ears.  She kept glancing over at the demon, worried she was going to upset him in front of other humans.  Eventually, Crowley managed to excuse them both from the conversation, and they retreated back to the solitude of the deck. </p>
<p>                Marian started to relax again, in spite of Crowley’s proximity.  By the time the cruise returned to land, she was in a relatively good mood and looking forward to their next destination, whatever that might be. </p>
<p>                He took her to see the Waitomo glow worm caves on the North Island.  They ended up on a little boat along with a few other tourists and a local guide.  He steered the little vessel through the network of caves, showing off incredible view after incredible view.  It was like the whole galaxy had been condensed and shoved underground, and now all the stars were shining at once.  The guide helpfully explained that it was the glowworm’s secretions that were bioluminescent, which made everything a bit less romantic, especially when some of the goo dripped onto one of the ladies on board.  She <em>had</em> been acting a little obnoxious, talking a little too loudly to her boyfriend, and Marian suspected that a certain demon may have been responsible for the large wad of what was basically worm poop that fell onto her hair. </p>
<p>                Next up was dinner at a restaurant that, while not especially fancy, was a good deal nicer than the truck-stops Marian was used to.  As much as Crowley enjoyed showing off, he seemed to understand that truly fine dining would not be appreciated by his fallen angel.  She needed a place where it was socially acceptable to keep one’s elbows on the table, and there was only one kind of fork.</p>
<p>                “I have to go back to work tomorrow,” Crowley said as they finished their meal. </p>
<p>                “I figured you would,” Marian said with a shrug. </p>
<p>                “We can do this again.  Every few weeks I should be able to get a day or two off.  Any longer than that, and everything falls apart, or someone tries to take my job.”  He stood and offered her his hand.  “We have one more stop before I take you home, though.” </p>
<p>                They blinked onto a beach that ended abruptly in a rocky shoreline; it was a bit like New England, Marian thought.  Crowley helped her up onto a boulder and motioned for her to watch the water. </p>
<p>                The sun was barely a sliver of fire on the horizon as it finished setting.  Little movements where the waves met the sand caught her attention, and she squinted into the darkness.  There were…Little black blobs.</p>
<p>                “What are they?” she whispered.</p>
<p>                Crowley touched her forehead, and suddenly her vision was much clearer, almost as if the sun was high in the sky.  She turned her attention back to the little blobs, and now she could see they were little blue penguins.  They had some in an aquarium back in Massachusetts: They were small and chattery and had that perpetual-baby look to them.  And now they were here in the wild, returning to their nests for the night.  One by one, they disappeared into the rocks.  Marian was so close, she could almost reach out and touch one. </p>
<p>                When the march of the penguins ended, Crowley blinked them back to his house in the States (at least, Marian assumed they were in the States—they got the same TV channels, and the trees looked the same).  She was sore all over now; not just her legs; so she sat down on the floor to stretch while she watched the news.  It was already the next day here, and the weather man said it was going to snow, which was depressing after her two days of summer.  Not like she was allowed to go outside here, anyway, but still. </p>
<p>                “Are you alright?” Crowley asked, looking up from a deal he was proof-reading. </p>
<p>                “Fine.  Just sore.”  She was hugging one knee to her chest while simultaneously trying to work a knot out of her shoulder.  “I haven’t been very active since I got here.  Guess I’m not used to it anymore.”</p>
<p>                She switched legs, not bothering to look up at the demon.  He eyed her thoughtfully, trying to ignore the feeling that something inside him was off.  The feeling that he was &lt;feeling.&gt;  It was happening, more and more, whenever he was around her.  After all the horrible, wicked things he’d done as a demon, feeling anything other than anger and contempt was…Unpleasant, to put it mildly.  It was its own kind of torture. </p>
<p>                He was starting to like it.</p>
<p>                “Come here,” he said, setting his work aside. </p>
<p>                Marian went from feeling relatively relaxed to Full Demonic Molestation Alert as she stood and moved to stand by the bed where he sat.  She gave him a wary look, staying just out of grabbing range. </p>
<p>                Crowley grinned.  The best part of this arrangement was that he didn’t have to choose between being nice to her and torturing her: Being nice &lt;was&gt; the torture.  “Take your shirt off and lie down.  Face down.”</p>
<p>                She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, but remembered she couldn’t.  She looked away from him as she pulled her shirt over her head, thankful she was still wearing a bra, and lay down next to him on her stomach.  Now that her chest was hidden from view, she turned her head to give him a look that said, ‘happy now?’</p>
<p>                He still had that awful, smug grin.  Marian shivered, though whether it was due to Crowley or being cold, she wasn’t sure.  His hands were hot, at least, as he ran them up her back to her shoulders, casually undoing her bra strap as he moved.  She had to turn away from him when he began to rub the base of her neck, resting her forehead on her arms to keep her face from smooshing into her mattress.</p>
<p>                She tried to remain calm.  She tried not to let him get to her.  But she was half-naked on a bed, and a demon (who owned her body and soul, lest she forget for one moment) was running his hands all over her.  This was the same demon—because it was so easy to forget--who was determined to knock her up with the next Antichrist.  And he was giving her a back massage.</p>
<p>                To be fair, he was very good at it.  Since she’d had nothing to do in captivity but be anxious about being held captive, her muscles had become a massive network of knots; her neck, shoulders, and back fused together in a seamless sheet of tension.  Crowley worked methodically to break them all up, and though he didn’t cause her excruciating pain, he certainly wasn’t afraid to hurt her in order to break up the larger knots.</p>
<p>                “No offense,” Marian said, “But how does a demon get to be good at massage?  I can’t imagine you do this very often.”</p>
<p>                Crowley chuckled.  “I have…A solid understanding of anatomy.  That’s Torture 101: Know where muscles connect to tendon and bone; which way the fibers run, and how much pressure to exert on any given point to produce maximum discomfort.”  He traced his hand along one of her lats to illustrate, moving from origin point to insertion point.  Then he went back to dissolving the knots in her back. </p>
<p>                Against her better judgement, Marian started to relax.  It wasn’t like remaining anxious would help her—all her anxiety was doing was making her more miserable.  But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing?  Crowley had been nice to her, and wasn’t that the worst part of all this?  It was easy to hate a demon who abducted her and locked her away and groped her.  It was…Harder to hate him when he took her to the most beautiful country she’d ever seen and let her explore it like a perfectly ordinary human.  It was hard to hate him when he was being &lt;nice.&gt; </p>
<p>                ‘Nice Crowley’ wasn’t real, though.  She wouldn’t let herself forget that.  Crowley was good at charming people: He’d made a career out of it, for Hell’s sake.  He knew what people wanted, and he gave it to them.  That’s all he was doing now: Giving her what she wanted.  But what the demon didn’t understand—what demons couldn’t understand—was that you couldn’t make someone love you by giving them what they wanted.  An asshole who gave you a box of chocolate was still an asshole. </p>
<p>                “So, what did you think?  Not bad for a first date?  Or do I need to show you all the kingdoms of the world?”</p>
<p>                Marian cringed at the Biblical reference; she didn’t need to be reminded of how far she’d fallen from her heavenly Father.  “New Zealand was amazing,” she said.  “And you were…Very human.”</p>
<p>                “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Crowley purred.  He continued to massage down her back, working out all the stress kinks. </p>
<p>                There was a tiny ‘shoof’ sound, and Marian could feel fresh air on her legs.  Had Crowley just pantsed her with his mojo?  She snapped her head up and around to glare at him. “Wha--?  Crowley!”</p>
<p>                “Relax; I left your knickers on.” He pressed the heel of his palm into her hamstrings, which were always a problem for her, and she cursed under her breath.  He copied the movement on her other leg, and her knee bent involuntarily. “You really should stretch more.”</p>
<p>                “I was trying—Christ!” she hissed as he dug into her I-band, the tight tendon that ran along the side of her thigh. </p>
<p>                “Language,” Crowley scolded, pressing harder.</p>
<p>                “Mother fucker!”</p>
<p>                He chuckled.  “Better.”  He continued to run his hands down her legs, entertaining himself by making her curse and twitch.  It wasn’t as much fun as torture, but he did love tormenting his little angel. </p>
<p>                When he’d finished ironing out her thighs, he moved on to her calves and then her feet. </p>
<p>                Marian shrieked and jerked her leg back when he touched the bottom of her foot. </p>
<p>                “What on Earth?”</p>
<p>                “Sorry, I’m ticklish!”</p>
<p>                Crowley blinked owlishly.  “You’re what?”</p>
<p>                “Ticklish.” </p>
<p>                He ran a finger lightly across her sole, watching her curiously as she giggled and moved her foot away.  He grabbed her ankle and repeated the motion: Again, she giggled and tried to break free.</p>
<p>                “Does it hurt?”</p>
<p>                “What?  No, it’s…It tickles.”  She turned onto her side, clamping her arms at her sides in an attempt to keep her unclasped bra in place.  “It’s like…It makes you laugh, but not in fun way.  Have you not…?  I mean, I suppose demons can’t be ticklish, but I assumed you know what it meant…?”  She twisted her leg more: Crowley was still petting her foot, and she wished she could kick him in the face. </p>
<p>                He stopped touching her foot, but held on to her ankle absent-mindedly.  “I’ve never heard the term used un-ironically.”  Marian gave him a confused look, so he clarified: “Demons say it all the time when they’re trying to be dicks.  Stab ‘em in the kidneys and they’ll say, ‘ha, that tickles’ like you’re not hurting them at all.”</p>
<p>                “Oh.  Right.”  Crowley let go of her foot at last, and she pulled her legs in toward her chest, hoping that ‘tickle torture’ was not about to become a thing.  She looked longingly at her shirt, and wondered if asking to get dressed would produce the opposite affect (him telling her she had to stay in her underwear, just because it made her uncomfortable).  She decided not to say anything.</p>
<p>                Crowley saw the look, though.  “Yes, I suppose you can get dressed,” he sighed.  “Though I should really keep you like this; it’s a much better view.”</p>
<p>                Marian’s mood dropped instantly.  Crowley rolled his eyes. </p>
<p>                “Here,” he said, handing her shirt over.  “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”</p>
<p>                He let her escape to the bathroom so she could brush her teeth and do all the other human things she needed to do.  It felt weird getting ready for bed when it was light outside, but she’d just had a long day on the other side of the planet and needed, at minimum, a long nap.  Preferably one without a demon in the bed, but she couldn’t have everything.</p>
<p>                Crowley was focused on his paperwork when Marian came back to bed.  She slid under the covers and turned onto her side, facing away from him.  She doubted he would leave her alone for very long, but it was nice to pretend that he didn’t exist for a minute.</p>
<p>                It was a short minute.  She felt the blanket lift off her feet, and something brushed against her heel.  She ignored it at first, but then it brushed along the bridge of her foot, multiple times, until it really tickled.  She laughed the annoyed, slightly angry laugh of the tickled and sat up, trying to hide her foot farther in the blanket.  Crowley had a look of intense concentration, holding the edge of a contract up to her foot.</p>
<p>                “What…?”</p>
<p>                “Interesting,” the demon said.  “You’re laughing, but you don’t enjoy it.”  He set the paper aside and grabbed her ankle, hauling her foot out from under the covers.  “Are you ticklish anywhere else?”</p>
<p>                “Yes, but I don’t want to tell y—Stop it!” she snapped as he tickled her foot again. </p>
<p>                He ignored her.  “I’m not hurting you.  Is it really that unpleasant?”</p>
<p>                “Yes!  No.  I don’t know.  Normally, people tickle little kids.  And their girlfriends, when they want to be obnoxious,” she added, thinking of her past relationships.</p>
<p>                Crowley grinned wickedly.  “Ah.  Well then, I need to learn.  Where are you ticklish?  Or should I just…Start trying places, until I find one that works?”</p>
<p>                “Joints!” Marian squeaked as the demon started to slide his hand up her leg.  “Backs of knees, armpits, neck.  And under my ribs.”  &lt;Nowhere sexual,&gt; she wanted to add.  &lt;Tickle me all you want, just stay away from those bits.&gt; </p>
<p>                “Really?”  He released her leg and was suddenly much closer to her, his fingers brushing the side of her neck.  She turned her head away from him so she wasn’t face-to-face with him, and for a moment he experimented with how lightly he needed to touch her.  When he got it right, she giggled and shrugged her shoulder up to protect herself.  Not phased, he switched his focus to her side, then her underarm, until she became a giggling ball of hatred, powerless against both his demonic strength and his strangely light and ticklish touch.  And the more she was tickled, the more ticklish she became.</p>
<p>                Crowley was still trying to figure out the allure of this not-quite-torture.  He did like making her squirm, even if she wasn’t really in distress.  At the same time, it was like she was having fun (even if she claimed she wasn’t).  The best part, he decided, was when she fell against him while flailing about, and he trapped her in his arms.  It felt like a very human thing, and for a reason he couldn’t explain, he enjoyed it.  He liked holding his little angel, even when he wasn’t just doing it to torture her.</p>
<p>                “Alright, I’ll stop torturing you,” Crowley said as Marian continued to struggle in his arms.  Her nerves were so frayed that it took her a moment to realize he’d stopped.  She finally settled down, breathing hard, her heart pounding.  “You should get some sleep.”</p>
<p>                Her eyes narrowed.  “I was trying to,” she grumbled. </p>
<p>                He released her so that she could lie down, curling up on her side again facing away from him.  Instead of going back to his work, he laid down behind her and put his arm around her.  When he’d first acquired her, he’d done this purely because she hated it; but now, she’d started to get used to it, and so had he.  Snuggling up to her, it was easy to imagine that he was cared for; that he was…Loved. </p>
<p>                The thought hadn’t crossed his mind in three hundred years.  But it was a nice thought.</p>
<p>                Marian yawned.  “You’re going back to work?”</p>
<p>                “Yes.  I might be gone for a few days.  Things pile up.”</p>
<p>                “Kay.”  She stretched her legs out, then pulled them in toward her chest.  It was very cat-like, Crowley thought.  And sort of…Endearing.</p>
<p>                Endearing.  Really, Crowley?  Maybe it was for the best that he had a few days away from her.  He was feeling far too human.</p>
<p>                 </p>
<p>                The next week passed without incident.  Crowley wasn’t around much, and Marian was getting comfortable with her new living arrangement.  Missing the level of physical activity she was used to with hunting, she ventured down to the basement to improvise.  She cleaned the blood and bits of person off some of the torture implements, and managed to come up with a pullup bar, some TRX-like ropes, a mace that she could use for upper body and core work, and a short platform she could use for box jumps and single-legged squats.  When Crowley discovered what she was doing, he got her a treadmill, and it became even harder not to like him just a little. </p>
<p>                It was almost Christmas (not that she’d be celebrating this year, but she made sure to watch all the cheesy TV specials anyway) when she received devastating news.  According to her hometown paper (that Crowley had graciously added to the piles of papers she already sifted through), local resident (and one of the hunters who had been with her when Crowley and his demons took over her town) Michael Phillips had been in a fatal car accident.  It had been snowing hard, with gusting winds, and a semi had crossed over the center line and struck him head-on. </p>
<p>                Marian had never expected to live long as a hunter, and though she loved all her friends dearly she knew that all their days were numbered as well; that’s just how life as a hunter went.  But she’d always expected they’d go down on a hunt, doing what they lived for.  You start out hunting one vampire and it turns out there are six; they take you out, and there’s no shame in that.  It’s a decent, albeit bloody, way to go.  Or you trip on a tree root and a wendigo gets you.  What’s not supposed to happen is perfectly ordinary but horrible deaths, like being killed by a vehicle that isn’t even possessed by a spirit.  There was just a man in his 40’s who couldn’t see the road for a second. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>                When Crowley returned that evening, he found her curled up at the foot of her bed with a half-empty box of tissues in front of her and the newspaper at her feet.  Her lip looked bloody, like she’d been chewing on it too hard.  She’d fallen asleep listening to a mix tape Michael had made for a group hunt years ago (“because we need to get pumped”) and left in her car, and she was hugging her journal to her chest, having re-read just about every hunt she’d gone on with her friend. </p>
<p>                Crowley picked up the paper and read the article.  &lt;<em>Ah.  That complicates things</em>,&gt; he thought.  He set the paper down on her dresser along with the tissues and, after a careful extraction, the journal, and gently moved Marian to her regular spot on the bed. </p>
<p>                She woke as soon as he pulled the covers over her, feeling momentarily disoriented.  She sat up quickly and her head spun; she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.</p>
<p>                “It’s alright, love, it’s just me,” Crowley said softly.</p>
<p>                Marian yawned and wiped dried tear tracks off her cheeks.  “Crowley?”  She’d just been having a terrible dream where she was driving in a snowstorm and huge trucks kept trying to hit her.  And before that…Before that, she’d had this awful dream that her friend had died.</p>
<p>                No.  That part wasn’t a dream.</p>
<p>                The demon sat down next to her and put his arm around her.  “I read about your friend.”</p>
<p>                Marian was all cried out, but she was still feeling down.  She leaned her head on his shoulder and curled into him.  “I was trying to keep him safe.  I thought I could keep them safe.  If they’re all going to die on me anyway, what’s the point?”</p>
<p>                “The point is, there are still over 6000 people that owe their lives to you,” Crowley replied.  He couldn’t have her reconsidering their deal, not after he’d come this far.  And if she did leave, he knew, it would only be a matter of time before another demon found her, and if anyone else created this Abomination…Well, it would not end well for Crowley.  He <em>had</em> to convince her to stay so that she could fall in love with him.  “Your parents---your <em>human</em> parents, at least—are still alive, as are the other hunters.  Accidents happen, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to happen to everyone you know.”</p>
<p>                Marian sighed.  “I know.  I just…I wish…”  She shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I can’t think right now.  Never mind.”</p>
<p>                Crowley moved with her so that they were lying down and ran his hand through her hair.  “See, this is why human emotion is overrated.  Sadness, depression…”  He made a face.  “Just get angry.  Anyone can deal with anger; you go and torture something until you feel better.”</p>
<p>                It wasn’t funny, not really, but with her emotions all fucked up she laughed anyway. </p>
<p>                Crowley smiled.  “I could get you an under-performing demon, or maybe a vampire, if you want to try it yourself?”  He brightened even more.  “The lorry driver lived.  I could get &lt;<em>him&gt;</em> for you.”</p>
<p>                She shook her head.  “No, that’s…That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to kill a human.  And that man didn’t kill Michael on purpose; I don’t want to torture someone for doing something by accident.”</p>
<p>                “<em>I </em>do it all the time,” Crowley shrugged. </p>
<p>                He squeezed her shoulder gently, rolling her forward so that he could rub her back.  She tensed, then slowly began to relax under his touch. </p>
<p>                She was starting to fall asleep when she heard him say: “You could go to the funeral.”</p>
<p>                “Hmm?” she replied, thinking she’d been dreaming.</p>
<p>                “Michael’s funeral.  That’s a big thing for people, isn’t it?  Pay your respects, or whatever it is you have to do to come to terms with your tiny mortal lives?”</p>
<p>                Marian twisted around to glare at him. </p>
<p>                “What?” he said.  “I was human once.  And back then, all anyone <em>did</em> was die.”</p>
<p>                She deflated.  “Do you know if he…I mean, which way he went?”</p>
<p>                “You mean if he’s in his own personal Heaven or being ripped apart by demons?” Crowley said with a grin.  “No, but I can find out.”  He tilted his head thoughtfully.  “Would you really want to know, though?  Do you really want to know for certain that he’s rotting away in Hell, when you could imagine him being at peace for eternity?”</p>
<p>                She shifted again, pressing her back against his chest.  “…I guess not.”</p>
<p>                He slid his arm around her waist.  “The service is tomorrow at 2.  I’ll drop you off a block away from the church, and pick you up eight hours later.  That should give you plenty of time to catch up with your friends.”</p>
<p>                “Wh—really?”  She twisted her neck so that she could gauge his mood.  “You would really let me see them?”</p>
<p>                “There’s nothing in our deal that forbids you from seeing your friends or family.  While it is in my best interest to isolate you from them, I see no harm in you seeing them this once.  I can’t have you moping around all the time, wondering whether you’ve made the right choice.”</p>
<p>                He had her full attention; she slid onto her back, staring up at him.  “What’s the catch?”</p>
<p>                “No catch.  Just play by the rules.”  He pulled on the cord around her neck, fishing the special coin out from under her shirt.  “I’ll be able to hear everything you say and know where you are.  If you take it off, I’ll know that too.”  He dropped the coin and let his hand rest on her stomach.  “Do you have a ‘go’ word?  Like when a hunt goes wrong?”</p>
<p>                Marian glanced away from him.  “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”</p>
<p>                “As long as ‘stupid’ keeps you alive, I don’t care.”</p>
<p>                “…Tequila.”</p>
<p>                Crowley smiled, then chuckled at the thought of hunters screaming ‘tequila’ at the top of their lungs while being overrun by monsters.  “Alright.  Tequila it is.”  He kissed her cheek, then made a little trail of kisses down to her neck.  Marian froze and held her breath.  “Just don’t forget that at the end of the day, &lt;<em>I own you.&gt;</em>” </p>
<p>                He bit down on her neck and sucked like a damn vampire but never broke her skin.  She whined and squirmed, but knew she couldn’t outright try to push him away—not that she could have, anyway, since he was so much stronger.  She gritted her teeth when he swirled his tongue over the bite, then licked a little farther over and bit down again.  &lt;<em>That’s going to leave a mark</em>,&gt; she thought.  Oh—that was the point, wasn’t it?  He was leaving her with hickeys as a physical reminder to her and everyone who looked at her that he owned her.  &lt;<em>He gets any more territorial, he’ll be peeing on you next&gt;.  </em>Now that she understood what he was doing, she was less panicked about it and forced herself to lie still.</p>
<p>                When he was satisfied that the marks were showy enough, he placed soft kisses over them and leaned back to admire his work.  Marian kept her head turned to the side, refusing to make eye contact with him.  Still, she couldn’t miss the devilish smirk on his face. </p>
<p>                “Someday, you’ll enjoy that,” he said.  “Don’t try to cover them up; I want everyone to see.”</p>
<p>                &lt;<em>Great,&gt;</em> she thought<em>.</em>  That wouldn’t make them worry about her at all.Still, at least she’d get to see them.  She rolled onto her side and curled her legs up toward her chest.  &lt;<em>You’re doing this for them.  You’re doing this for them.  You’re doing this for them.&gt;</em></p>
<p>
  <em>                &lt;I don’t know if I can do this.&gt;</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20: Well, Fuck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The title says it all, really.  TW: Rape</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marian studied her reflection in the mirror.  She’d lost a little weight, most of it muscle, since she’d seen her friends.  And she was paler, since she’d only been out in the sun for two days: the whiteness really made the hickeys stand out more.  Fantastic.  She could have put makeup on to look a little less like death, but she knew she was going to cry it all off anyway, so there really wasn’t any point. </p><p>                “Ready?” Crowley asked, appearing behind her. </p><p>                She spun around, startled.  “Yeah.”</p><p>                Her skin tingled and her stomach flip-flopped, and now they were standing in an alley along a row of shops.  All the stores were decorated for Christmas, and people hurried from one spot to another, bundled up against the cold New England winter. </p><p>                “Ten o’clock,” Crowley reminded her. </p><p>                “Where do I—”</p><p>                “I’ll find you.”  He drew her closer and kissed her forehead.  “Be good.”  And he vanished.</p><p>                Marian stepped onto the sidewalk and followed the sound of bells to the church.  People were still going inside, and she hesitated:  What would they think when they saw her?  Most of these people were strangers to her: Michael’s friends and family from his non-hunting life.  They were the reason for the church service.  Michael knew God didn’t give a shit about him, but he knew that his family’s spirituality was important to them and went along with it. </p><p>                She spotted Erica walking with two other hunters she’d worked with before, and hurried over to catch her before she disappeared inside. </p><p>                “Erica!”</p><p>                Erica stopped dead in her tracks, jaw dropping and eyes bulging.  The other hunters looked at Erica, then at Marian, remembered the story they’d been told about her, and adopted similar expressions. </p><p>                Marian saw Erica’s hand move as she approached, and expected what came next.  She shut her eyes as her friend threw a flask of holy water in her face, then wiped herself off with her sleeve. </p><p>                “Yup.  Not a demon.”  She rolled a sleeve up and held her forearm out for the next test.  “Go ahead.”</p><p>                Eyeing her suspiciously, Erica pulled a silver knife out of her pocket and made a tiny cut just above her wrist. </p><p>                “Not a shifter.”</p><p>                Erica handed her a handkerchief to wrap around the cut and took a step back.  “You didn’t kill Crowley, or I’d be dead.  So what are you doing here?”</p><p>                “I read about Mi—I read about him in the paper,” she said, suddenly unable to say his name without choking up.  “Crowley, he…He brought me here.  I have eight hours and then I have to go back.”</p><p>                Her fellow hunters bristled.  “He’s here?” the taller woman, Sarah, said.</p><p>                “Not anymore.”  She pulled the coin out to show them.  “I have to wear this.  He can hear everything around me, so don’t…Don’t talk near me if you don’t want him to listen.  He can track me with it, too.”</p><p>                “Well <em>I </em>have a few things I’d like to say to him,” Erica said, puffing up her chest. </p><p>                Marian covered the coin with her fist and took a step back.  She could see her friend revving up for a rant about how evil demons were and how the king of the crossroads was, in particular, an asshole, and all the things she would do to torture and kill him if he ever let his guard down.</p><p>                “Not right now,” Marian pled.  “Please, I just…I just want to see you guys, and say goodbye to Michael, and…And not talk about me.”</p><p>                Erica sighed.  “Fine.”  She narrowed her eyes.  “What happened to your neck?  Are those…Ohmygod!” </p><p>                Marian’s hand flew up to cover the hickeys.  “We’re not talking about me.”</p><p>                “But—but—shit, are you…Are you okay?”</p><p>                &lt;<em>Shut up, Erica.  I didn’t want to cry about me, I wanted to cry about Michael.&gt;</em>  “’M fine,” she snapped, slipping the coin back under her shirt. </p><p>                Erica took her arm and the four of them walked together into the church. </p><p>                They joined other hunters inside.  Every time a new hunter approached, there was the same quick and embarrassing discussion about how Marian was there and whether or not she was possessed or otherwise not herself.  There were more than a few sidelong glances at her neck, but only her closest friends were bold enough to bring it up.  She breathed a sigh of relief when the service started and everyone settled down.</p><p>                Michael’s mother spoke, as did his sister (his father had passed away years ago, and his brother was killed by a shapeshifter).  Then his hunter friend Keith got up, and delivered a touching eulogy that spoke to his sacrifices as a hunter without coming right out and saying that he hunted demons as a career (since not everyone present was aware of the supernatural world, and this was certainly not the time to enlighten them).  Marian cried through most of the service, composing herself for the traditional ‘coffee hour’ that followed: There was coffee, tea, punch (non-alcoholic, though many hunters brought their own flasks), and a variety of little snacky foods that churches always seemed to have on hand, like those little dry butter cookies that came in tins.  She spoke briefly to Michael’s family but mostly stayed by Erica’s side.  It was a bit overwhelming, really, being out among ‘normal’ people without Crowley.  She kept glancing over her shoulder to check in with him, and every time someone brushed past her, put their hand on her shoulder, or went to hug her, she would tense up. </p><p>                Their friend David (one of the hunters who was part of the ‘deal’) found them and did a double-take at seeing Marian, but Erica nodded reassuringly and he seemed to accept that all was well.  He informed them that the hunters were going to have their own hunter-style wake at a local pub.  There would be real deep-fried food and copious amounts of alcohol.</p><p>                David caught up with her on the walk to the pub, where it was just her, Erica, and their friend Rachel.  The group was moving slowly because Rachel was on crutches as a result of her last hunt. </p><p>                “So are you going to fill me in, or what?” he asked, falling into step with the group.</p><p>                Marian made a face and looked at Erica; her friend gave a brief synopsis of how and why she was back with them. </p><p>                “But we’re not talking about me tonight,” Marian reminded them.</p><p>                “Hold on, I think we should talk about you a &lt;<em>little&gt;</em>,” David countered.  “Like why your neck is all…”</p><p>                “Hickeyed?” Rachel suggested.</p><p>                Marian stopped and turned on them, murder in her eyes.  “Why do you <em>think,</em>” she snarled. </p><p>                David took a step back, looking hurt.</p><p>                She sighed and turned on her heel, falling back into step.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just, I only have a few hours with you guys, and I don’t want to spend them talking about—about me.”  She felt a sudden wave of emotion and felt like she was about to burst into tears.  She started walking faster so that the others couldn’t see her face. </p><p>                Erica took her hand, slowing her down, and squeezed it.  “It’s okay.  We’re all here for you, Marian.”</p><p>                “We’re not going to judge you,” Rachel said.  “What you did—the choice you made—that was really brave of you.  I’m not sure I could have done the same thing.”</p><p>                “I appreciate what you did,” David added.  “Believe me, I’m happy to be alive.  But I also would have understood if you couldn’t…If you chose to let us die.  I know we act all noble as hunters and talk about sacrificing for the greater good, but I don’t know many people that could have done what you did.  I mean, we’re not talking about a quick death—you’re spending the rest of your life at the mercy of a demon who wants to knock you up with what is essentially the Antichrist.  I’d have a hard time choosing a lifetime of torture and rape over death in that case, even if it meant the deaths of thousands more.”</p><p>                Marian cringed. </p><p>                “Way to bring the mood up, David,” Erica muttered.</p><p>                “I appreciate your…Support,” Marian sighed, “But I’m fine.  Really.  And even if I wasn’t fine, I wouldn’t tell you, because I don’t want you to worry about me.”</p><p>                “But we <em>do</em> worry,” Erica said.  “What I imagine you have to go through…” She shook her head. </p><p>                “It’s not as bad as you’re imagining,” Marian replied quickly.  “Honest.”  Evidently, she wasn’t going to get away with not talking about herself tonight.  She might as well just lay everything out for them.  “I live in a house.  A normal, not-Hell house.  He gets me whatever I want for food, and I’ve started working out.  I have all my things from home—well, except for the weapons and stuff.  He’s usually out working on deals, so I go through all these different papers and look for supernatural stuff.  It keeps me busy.”</p><p>                “…And when he &lt;<em>is&gt; </em>around?” Erica asked softly.  She looked meaningfully at her neck.</p><p>                “He’s not as bad as you’d think.”  Marian looked away, feeling her face heat up. </p><p>                “We’re here,” Rachel said, stopping in front of a large black door.</p><p>                Marian breathed a sigh of relief.  Now they would be surrounded by other hunters, and she could stop being the focus of conversation.</p><p>                She stayed by Erica, using her friend as a lifeline in the crowded pub.  It was packed with hunters, but there were also ‘normal’ people who seemed a bit appalled to be suddenly surrounded by dozens of flannel-clad men and women in black jeans (for mourning, of course) who looked like they’d just stepped out of an LL Bean ad on steroids.  Pool tables were immediately taken over, and it seemed there was a competitive push to see who could get drunk the fastest.  Marian had one drink to try and relax a little, but as much as she would have liked to get smashed and forget all her worries, she knew she had to keep an eye on the time and keep an eye out for demons. </p><p>                She joined a game of <em>Cards Against Humanity</em> that was 10% game and 90% swapping hunt stories, then watched David play pool against a hunter she’d never met before.  As the afternoon turned into evening, she settled into a small crowd of her old friends and they shared stories about Michael, which she’d been hoping for all day.  Every now and then someone would lean over to Erica and whisper something while glancing at Marian, and Erica would whisper back; as annoying as it was to be talked about behind her back, in front of her, it was better having Erica as a contact person than having to answer their questions herself.  It didn’t matter if her friend knew the answers to their questions or not; as long as she wasn’t the one doing the talking, she was fine with the arrangement. </p><p>                When she had about an hour left, an unfamiliar hunter approached her group and attempted to strike up a conversation with her. </p><p>                “It’s Marian, right?”</p><p>                Marian hesitated.  “I…”</p><p>                “I’m Chris.  I think we were on a hunt together a couple years ago, in Michigan.  Michael was there, too.  The hotel that used to be an orphanage, where they’d been Sweeny-Todd-ing the kids?”</p><p>                “Oh!  Right.  Sorry, I…I’m not that good at faces.”</p><p>                “That’s alright.  Listen, I heard about what you had to do back in Mass.  Welcome back to the land of the living.”</p><p>                Marian tensed.  “I was never actually in Hell…”</p><p>                “Well, since you’re here, you must’ve found a way out of the contract without all your friends dying; how’d you do it?”</p><p>                She scooted backwards.  “I…Didn’t.”  Something about Chris was rubbing her the wrong way, but she couldn’t decide what it was.  He was friendly; was that it?  He was smiling.  Was she so used to people not smiling that it was weird now? </p><p>                He cocked his head to the side, but his smile remained.  “So, what—you’re here as a spy?”</p><p>                Marian felt the coin against her chest and fought back a sudden panic.  “I’m—it’s—”</p><p>                Chris laughed.  “I’m kidding, relax!”  His eyes scrunched up in humor, and for just a moment she could have sworn they turned black.  But the bar was dark, and she was…Emotionally overtaxed, to say the least, so it must have been a trick of the light.  Besides, a demon would have to have serious balls to show up at a hunter’s gathering.  Or just really desperate…</p><p>                &lt;<em>Desperate enough to command an army of demons to possess an entire town</em>,&gt; she thought. </p><p>                She had been around Crowley for so long that she didn’t notice the smell of sulfur anymore; but she’d spent the day demon-free, so maybe she could notice it now.  She inhaled deeply under the guise of yawning: Definitely sulfur here.  But could she only smell it because it was on her clothes?  Maybe she was being paranoid and crazy.  She glanced over at Erica, but her friend was absorbed in a conversation with a handsome older hunter. </p><p>                “So when does Crowley come to fetch you back to his lair?”</p><p>                That…Was an odd question from someone she hadn’t talked to in years.  Or was it?  They were all hunters here; conversations were never exactly normal. </p><p>                “Soon,” she replied vaguely.</p><p>                “Do you have time for another drink?  You know, to celebrate your five minutes of freedom?”</p><p>                “Uh…Probably not.”</p><p>                “That’s too bad.  If I had to go through what you do, I’d want to be drunk all the time.”  He picked up his own drink like he was saluting her and took a sip; as he set it back down on the table, he blinked, and this time she &lt;<em>knew&gt;</em> she saw black for just a split second. </p><p>                &lt;<em>Okay, don’t panic&gt;,</em> she thought.  &lt;<em>You’re completely unarmed, but you’re surrounded by people with holy water, religious relics, and who have memorized more exorcisms than song lyrics.  Just stay calm.&gt;</em></p><p>                She laughed nervously.  “Yeah, well, unfortunately someone has to be sober around here.”  She felt under the table and kicked Erica’s leg.  “I guess I could have <em>one</em> more drink, though.”</p><p>                Erica looked at her in confusion.</p><p>                “Sure; what’ll it be?”</p><p>                “Um…Surprise me.  Anything but tequila; I’m allergic.”</p><p>                “You got it.”  He got up and headed over to the bar.</p><p>                Erica perked up at the code word, now on Red Alert.  Her gentleman friend picked up on her alarm and scooted closer.</p><p>                “<em>Demon</em>,” Marian hissed across the table.  “<em>Not Crowley’s.  We need to take him out.</em>”</p><p>                Erica nodded.  Then she did something Marian did not expect.</p><p>                Wobbling a bit, she climbed onto the table and shouted: “Heeeey, everybody!  This one goes out to Michael!  Sing along if you know the words!”</p><p>                And she started to sing what was essentially the world’s first hunter lullaby, an exorcism set to a catchy tune.  Most of the bar started to sing it with her; Marian slid under the table and ran.</p><p>                Erica tossed her a flask and she unscrewed the top as she moved.  She should be safe as long as she stayed in the bar and kept moving; if she stayed in one place for too long, the demon could blink to her and grab her. </p><p>                There was a scream from the direction of the bar, and the song cut off abruptly.  Erica sat down hard, clawing at her throat like she couldn’t breathe.  All the other hunters had been struck with the same problem. </p><p>                “You didn’t think it would be that easy?” ‘Chris’ said from right behind her. </p><p>                She turned to face him, and now his eyes stayed black.  “No,” she said, “But fuck you anyway.”  She splashed the holy water in his face and he backed away, growling and pawing at the burns that appeared. </p><p>                “Bitch,” he hissed.</p><p>                “Yup.”  She took advantage of his temporary blindness and punched him in the nose, and heard a satisfying crunch.  The power he’d held over the other hunters was lifted, and they started to charge toward him.  Marian leapt back as he grabbed for her, but she was too slow; he caught her wrist with an iron grip, and they vanished.</p><p> </p><p>                She felt her brain bounce in her skull as she landed hard on concrete.  The demon still had hold of her wrist with one hand, and his other hand flew to her throat, squeezing hard enough to choke the breath out of her.  He dug his knee into the base of her ribs and leaned his weight on it, pinning her down. </p><p>                Marian bared her teeth like a wild dog, but all she could do was kick her legs uselessly. </p><p>                “You can’t beat me,” the demon said.  “You’re unarmed, and you have no power.  Make it easier on yourself and just give up.”</p><p>                She pushed against his chest with her free hand, her lungs screaming for air, and he looked at her curiously, like he was being attacked by a particularly tiny but spirited bunny rabbit. </p><p>                “Really?”  He leaned in closer.</p><p>                Perfect.  She grabbed the collar of his shirt and used his own momentum to pull him down; since he’d been expecting her to push him away again, he was caught off guard and fell into her.  Their heads cracked together and Marian rolled, shoving him away and taking in a lungful of air. </p><p>                “<em>Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiri</em>—”</p><p>                She was tossed into a wall and held their by the demon’s power.  Her throat burned: She’d had plenty of sore throats, but this felt like it was literally on fire.  She could breathe, but she couldn’t make a sound above a little squeak. </p><p>                “I don’t think so,” the demon snarled.  He flicked his wrist and she landed on her back on the floor again.  “I wanted to hear you scream, but I guess we can’t have everything, can we?” </p><p>She went to attack him and felt his power flow around her arms and legs, holding them down.  It felt like there were little demonic ants running over her skin.  He stepped over her and looked down.</p><p>                “I like your spirit, angel.  You’d be fun to torture.”  He sank onto his knees, straddling her.  “I can see why Crowley is so attached to you, but you’re not his anymore.”  He leaned in even closer, and for a moment she could see the actual demon inside the meat-suit.  “You’re &lt;<em>mine&gt;</em>.” </p><p>                He snapped his fingers and her clothes disappeared. </p><p>                In a moment of adrenaline-fueled panic, Marian jerked one of her arms out of his power and went to slap him, but she bent her knuckles just enough to claw him like a cat.  She knew it wouldn’t do any real damage to a demon, but it was still satisfying to feel his skin rip on her nails and see the bloody welts that followed.</p><p>                Then things went bad.</p><p>                The demon’s eyes went black and he hissed with rage.  Her arm was pinned again by his power once more, but now there was no moving it at all. </p><p>                “That’s how you want to play it?  Fine.  You’re just a glorified incubator, bitch.  You don’t need arms and legs.”  He raised one hand up.  “I &lt;<em>do&gt; </em>want to hear this.”</p><p>                Her throat loosened, but before she could make a sound she felt the demon’s energy wrap around her arms and legs and &lt;<em>snap&gt;</em>, fracturing the bones.</p><p>                Marian screamed.  It was the kind of sound that started somewhere deep and primal in the soul and kept going right down to the pits of Hell.  She’d broken bones on hunts before, but never like this.  Never &lt;<em>all&gt;</em> of them.  Something else woke in her, something she’d only felt once before as a human, and it felt like she was being ripped in half. </p><p>The demon was tossed across the room but recovered almost instantly.  He closed her throat again before she could even think of exorcising him (though all she could think of at the moment was how badly everything hurt), tugged his pants down, and knelt between her broken legs, pushing them apart (which hurt like fucking Hell).  She felt like she was going to pass out, but then the demon pushed its energy into her head and she was unbearably &lt;<em>awake&gt;</em> and &lt;<em>present&gt;</em>, and she wanted to die.</p><p>                “Oh, no.  You don’t get to sleep through this, princess,” he growled.  “And you don’t have enough grace in you to pull that little stunt again.”</p><p>                Grace?  That’s what happened?  She tried to do…Whatever she had done, again, but the demon had been right.  Whatever she’d done, it had been completely involuntary, and her body didn’t seem inclined to grant her a repeat performance. </p><p>                “I’m Lester, by the way,” the demon said.  “You can’t scream my name right now, but you will be soon, so you might as well get it into your head.”</p><p>                He jammed his fingers into her and she struggled uselessly.  Just trying to move her arms and legs caused stabbing pain to sear across her joints: the harder she tried to fight him, the more it hurt. </p><p>                He removed his fingers, licked them obscenely, then penetrated her and started jackhammering her like…Well, like a demon.  Her back scraped against the concrete floor and the jostling was a nightmare for her broken limbs, which helped distract her from the &lt;<em>other&gt;</em> pain.  In her brief career as a human being, Marian had been shot, stabbed, set on fire, dropped down a manhole, and countless other nasty things, but she’d never dealt with something as personal and intimate as rape.  No one had ever been &lt;<em>inside&gt;</em> her body.</p><p>                She closed her eyes but the demon forced them open, making her look at him while he fucked her.  He was talking to her too, taunting her, but all she could hear was a ringing in her ears: everything was just background noise.  She didn’t even hear the wall explode behind her.</p><p>                Suddenly, Lester was ripped away from her.  He hit the far wall and struggled against an unseen force.</p><p>                “Not possible,” Lester gasped.  “I warded—you aren’t strong enough—”</p><p>                Crowley strode into the room (if four concrete walls and a ceiling could be considered a ‘room’), eyes glowing red and trained on the other demon.  Marian had never seen him this angry.</p><p>                He grabbed Lester’s shirt in his fist and got right in his face.  “Mine,” he growled, and they disappeared.</p><p>               </p><p>                Marian rolled onto her side.  Everything hurt, and even the slight turn was so bad that she thought she might pass out, but she felt less exposed than she had on her back.  She started to shiver, and the little muscle tremors aggravated her broken bones, and then that pain made her shiver more. </p><p>                Crowley reappeared moments later, splattered with blood.  He knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder gently, porting them both home.</p><p>                There was a tiny jolt as she appeared on her bed, and it was enough to jostle every little bone fracture she had.  She bit her lip hard, turning a scream into a strangled whimper.  It appeared that she had her voice back, at least. </p><p>                Crowley touched her arm and she hissed, trying to pull away from him.</p><p>                “I know,” he said, and all of his anger was gone, replaced by something gentler, something almost human.  “I know it hurts, but I can heal you.  It’s going to be…Very unpleasant, but then you’ll be better, alright?”</p><p>                She nodded, whimpering.  She closed her eyes and held her breath as he ran his hand down her arm, feeling the burning tingle of his energy flow through her.  As the fractures healed, it felt like they were breaking all over again: she wanted to pull away from him, to tell him to stop, but she knew that moving would only make it worse.  Finally, after seconds that felt like minutes, her arm was repaired.  He rolled her onto her back to heal the other one, but now she at least had one working hand.  She bit down on her fist, which helped a little. </p><p>                “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you right away,” Crowley said as he started to heal her leg.  “He set a trap for me—knew where I was going to be, and had all his little minions waiting.  Once I finally killed them all, I followed the coin to your location, but he’d warded the place well.  Lester was one of the senior demons in charge of torturing; separate from the crossroads, but we’d cross paths occasionally.”</p><p>                Marian resisted the urge to punch him as she felt her femur slide back together.  “Then how did you get—” she cut herself off, whimpering as the bones healed all the way down to her ankle. </p><p>                “The wall cracked, breaking one of the seals.”  He moved on to the second leg.  “You did that—with your grace.”</p><p>                She bit down on her fist again, holding her breath to keep from screaming as the rest of her bones knit back into place.  Finally it was over, and she sagged into the mattress, feeling like she could pass right out. </p><p>                “He got…Knocked back, after he broke my arms an’ legs,” she mumbled, the words slurring together.  She felt a little drunk, but not in a good way.  It was like someone else drank the alcohol and she was suffering the side effects.  “Felt like I was…”  She held up her fists and pulled them apart.  “Two people, getting torn up…”</p><p>                “I assume that was a side effect of your grace activating.”</p><p>                “Didn’t do it on purpose.”</p><p>                “No, you wouldn’t be able to.  The angels would have made sure of that when they sent you to Earth.  It reacted on its own, like when you almost drowned as a teenager.  Now it’s depleted, though, and you’ll need time to recharge.  In the meantime, you’ll be weaker than usual as your body focuses on rebuilding your grace, and you won’t heal as you normally would.”</p><p>                Marian winced as Crowley touched her ribs where Lester had dug his knee into her.  They were definitely bruised, but with a little tingle of demonic energy they felt better.  He started to slide his hand down her stomach, and she whimpered, rolling onto her side into a tight little ball.  Even if he was just going to heal her, she didn’t want to be touched &lt;<em>there&gt;</em> again. </p><p>                “Shh, I know, love,” Crowley said softly.  He used his free hand to smooth her hair out of her face; his other hand continued to slide down until it was just above her crotch.  “You’re alright.” </p><p>                Her skin tingled, and she felt the slight burn of his energy flow through her.  She was so relieved that he wasn’t sticking his fingers in her that she barely registered the feeling like someone had put jalapeno oil up her vagina.  It only lasted a moment, anyway, and then the soreness from <em>before</em> was gone.  Crowley moved his hand to her back and gently turned her so that he could get a better look at the bruises and scratches she’d sustained there.  Those were the least of her injuries, and she barely felt more than a light sting as he healed them. </p><p>                He snapped his fingers and Marian found herself dressed in her coziest sweatpants (she’d stolen them from Erica years ago) and t-shirt.  She rolled onto her side, starting to relax now that she was no longer physically hurting and naked. </p><p>                Crowley sat up, cocking his head to the side.  “Well.  Took them long enough.”  He turned to Marian.  “Your little friends are summoning me.  I didn’t think they’d be clever enough to figure out how.”</p><p>                She ignored the insult to their intelligence.  “Which—”</p><p>                “The pretty one with the big chest, and the male model with the bad teeth.”</p><p>                That would be Erica and David, she assumed. </p><p>                “They’ll be wanting my help to rescue you.  Shall we let them know you’re safe and sound?”</p><p>                As much as she did &lt;<em>not&gt;</em> want to face her friends right now and explain what happened, she knew she’d have to go with him.  They wouldn’t trust anything he said on his own, and they might try to attack him, which would get a lot of people killed, including themselves.  She didn’t trust her friends to uphold the terms of the contract right now. </p><p>                Crowley stood and offered her his hand; she went to get up, but her legs didn’t want to support her.  She fell into him, huffing in frustration.</p><p>                “It’s your grace.  You’ll be back on your feet soon.”  He scooped her up in his arms and there was an odd sensation like a rubber band slingshot as the summoning spell pulled them away.  As the darkness of the ether swallowed her up, Marian passed out.</p><p>                They reappeared in an abandoned office building (surprise, surprise).  Crowley looked down and scowled at the devil’s trap they’d drawn him into. </p><p>                “Abercrombie and Fitch,” he growled, “Wonderful hospitality, as always.”</p><p>                Erica stood at the edge of the circle.  “You found her!  What the Hell happened?”</p><p>                “I should ask you the same thing.  A whole bar full of hunters, and you let &lt;<em>one&gt;</em> demon get the best of you?  One pathetic little mouth-breathing demon, and you let him get away with &lt;<em>my angel</em>&gt;!” </p><p>                Erica took a step back, bumping into David.  “What happened to her?  Is she okay?” she asked in a more subdued voice.</p><p>                Crowley nudged her head with his shoulder.  “Wake up, angel.  Say hello to your friends,” he said softly.  As she woke, he turned back to the hunters: “She’ll be fine.”</p><p>                Marian raised her head and looked around owlishly.  “Hey guys.”  Her voice sounded…Smaller somehow.  “I’m okay.”</p><p>                David came around Erica to the edge of the trap.  “And the other demon?”</p><p>                “He’s not going anywhere,” Crowley replied.</p><p>                “You didn’t kill him?” Erica asked in surprise.</p><p>                “I’ve been a bit busy,” he snapped back.  “I’ll get to it, believe me.  Now, if you would be so kind…”  He gestured to the trap.</p><p>                Marian looked down at the floor and gasped.  “You summoned him into a trap?  Let him out right now!”  She struggled in his arms like she was going to jump down and break the seal herself, but Crowley held her tight; it wasn’t like she could put up much of a fight right now anyway.</p><p>                “It’s alright, love, I’ll overlook it this time,” he purred, and she went still.  He glared up at the two hunters.  “You pull this stunt again and I won’t be as forgiving.  You morons both know the terms of the contract.”</p><p>                David pulled a knife out of his pocket and scratched a line through the paint, breaking the trap.  “Just didn’t want you to leave without hearing us out,” he grumbled.</p><p>                “We were afraid you wouldn’t help us,” Erica grumbled behind him.</p><p>                Crowley sidestepped out of the circle and sat Marian down on a dusty old desk.  She put her feet up on the edge and hugged her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees.  The demon kept one hand on her shoulder, like he didn’t dare let go of her again.</p><p>                “I’m not helping you.  I’m helping &lt;<em>me&gt;</em>.  We just happened to have the same goal.”  He cleared his throat.  “Anything else I can do for you, while I’m here?”  His tone indicated that there better not be.</p><p>                Erica hurried to her friend’s side; David hung back a little, keeping an eye on Crowley. </p><p>                “Are you hurt?” Erica asked, fussing over her and checking for injuries.  She frowned at the dull look in her eyes.</p><p>                Marian let her fuss a little, but really didn’t want anyone touching her right now.</p><p>                “I told you I’m fine,” she said, stopping the investigation.  “Crowley healed me.”</p><p>                Erica looked surprised.  “&lt;<em>Crowley&gt; </em>did?  Can demons do that?”</p><p>                “It’s part of the deal.”</p><p>                “You look sick, Mare.  Maybe you should go to a real doctor.”</p><p>                She shook her head.  “It’s my grace.  I…I used it, and that’s…Bad.”  She was feeling like she might pass out again.  Crowley’s hand became more supportive.</p><p>                “You can use Grace?”</p><p>                “Well, not really.  Not normally.  It was kind of a—a fluke.”</p><p>                Erica leaned in closer to her friend and lowered her voice.  “What did he <em>do</em> to you?”</p><p>                Marian couldn’t look her friend in the eye.  “Just beat the crap out of me.  Threw me into walls; you know—the usual demon shit.”</p><p>                “But that happens all the time, and you never used Grace then.”</p><p>                She shrugged.  “Maybe I’m more in touch with my angel side now that I’m with a demon.  I don’t know, they don’t tell you this stuff when they kick you out of Heaven.”</p><p>                Erica knew there was something she wasn’t telling her, but it was hard to talk with Crowley right there.  She glared back at him.  “Leave her with us, just for one day.  She needs to rest and—”</p><p>                Crowley laughed.  “With you?  So she can be abducted by another demon?  You had a chance to protect her, and you blew it.”  His hand tightened possessively on her shoulder.  “Don’t act like I’m the bad guy here; contrary to what you may believe, I don’t keep her chained in a dungeon all day.”</p><p>                “Not the bad guy?!  You threatened to kill over six thousand people, including her family, so that you could knock her up with the Antichrist!”</p><p>                “Erica—” Marian started, but Crowley cut her off.</p><p>                “First of all, it’s not the Antichrist.  I met the antichrist, and he’s not a bad kid.  Second of all…”  He shrugged.  “Broken eggs, omelets, etc.  All that’s behind us.  Just know that <em>I</em> will keep her safe.” </p><p>                Erica opened her mouth to speak again, but Marian shook her head.  “You gotta let me go.  You did it once already.”             </p><p>                The hunter deflated.  “I know.  I just can’t stand the thought of you—”</p><p>                “Then don’t say it.”  Marian squinted back at her friend, her vision starting to blur.  “Don’t get yourself killed.”</p><p>                Erica squeezed her hand.  Marian flinched, remembering the feeling of broken bones.  “Yeah.  You too.”</p><p>                Crowley scooped her up again, and they vanished.</p><p> </p><p>                “You lied to your friends,” Crowley said, tucking her into her bed.  “That’s not very angelic of you.”  He sat down next to her and petted her head.  “…Actually, I suppose it is.  But you could have…What’s that thing you people do?  Talked about your feelings, or whatever.”</p><p>                Marian curled up on her side and closed her eyes.  “Feelings suck.”  She shivered and moved closer to him; it felt like she was freezing from the inside out. </p><p>                The demon touched her cheek, and she leaned into the warmth of his hand.  “Cold?”</p><p>                She nodded.  It must be whatever was happening with the grace that she didn’t have and couldn’t use.  Crowley slid under the blankets and she flipped over so that her back was to him and pressed up against him.  The demon was always warm, but now it felt like that warmth was flowing around her instead of through her.  She continued to shiver as he wrapped his arm around her. </p><p>                Normally, he would lie down more or less straight and she would curl up so that only her back was touching him, but tonight he curled around her.  She tensed and curled up tighter into herself when she felt his crotch against her butt, but with his arm around her waist she couldn’t move away.  It was just a reminder that, even with Lester out of the picture, she was still just a &lt;<em>thing&gt;</em> for a demon to have sex with.  She had no control over her own body: Hell, she couldn’t even control her own grace.  And though Crowley had &lt;<em>said&gt;</em> he wasn’t going to just grab her and fuck her like Lester had, that didn’t mean she felt safe around him either.  He was still going to touch her wherever he wanted and do whatever he wanted, and there was nothing she could say or do to stop him. </p><p>                Exhausted, angry, and frightened, Marian couldn’t stop the waterworks from starting up again.  She turned her face into her pillow, crying silently, hoping the way her chest and shoulders shook would be hidden by her shivering.  She was so tired of being weak and helpless: the demon had control of every part of her life, but she hated that he could <em>see</em> how awful he made her feel.  She hated breaking down again and again and again, giving him the satisfaction that he’d broken her that much more each time. </p><p>                “My little angel,” Crowley murmured, kissing the back of her head.  “You’re alright now.  I’ve got you.”</p><p>                So much for hiding her feelings.  Marian bit her lip and whimpered, curling even tighter into herself until her muscles started to ache.  She felt like she couldn’t breathe.  She tried to uncurl to get more air, but Crowley was blocking her.  His demonic heat was smothering her, filling her lungs with sulfur.  She started to panic and struggle against him.</p><p>                Crowley removed his hand from her waist and sat up, giving her room to breathe.  Marian rolled onto her back, hyperventilating.  “Relax, love.  Breathe.”</p><p>                She shook her head.  She couldn’t relax.  She couldn’t breathe.</p><p>                Crowley’s eyes narrowed.  Marian was acting like she’d been hexed, but she hadn’t been around any witches, and he would know if one had been in the house.  If it wasn’t witches, then what?  This must be some sort of human malfunction.  He set his hand on her forehead: Whatever he couldn’t fix via conventional means, he could solve with demonic power. </p><p>                Marian felt her head start to buzz and her brain jumped back to when Lester had used his power to keep her alert.  She tried to move away, but Crowley grabbed her shoulder with his free hand, holding her in place.  A moment later, her panic subsided as the demonic sedation took effect.  Her muscles relaxed, and she could breathe normally.  She felt like she couldn’t move, and that made her want to panic again, but she didn’t have the energy for it.  It was as if she’d been given Xanax along with a strong muscle relaxant: She was basically a boneless lump. </p><p>                Crowley released her and laid down facing her, propping himself up on his elbow.  He took Marian’s hand and held it, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.  She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him.  &lt;He forced her eyes open.  He made her look at him.&gt; </p><p>                Marian’s eyes snapped open and she shook her head, trying to dislodge the memory.  She could feel herself starting to panic again, but she was too sedated to properly freak out.  A whine crept out of the back of her throat. </p><p>                “Shh.  You’re safe now,” Crowley said softly.</p><p>                She shook her head vehemently.  She wasn’t safe: Crowley was there.  Crowley would hurt her.</p><p>                The demon sighed.  “I suppose I should let you rest in peace.”  He kissed her forehead, and then he was pulling away from her, the demon’s warmth replaced by a cool rush of air as the blanket moved. </p><p>                Marian’s eyes widened and she struggled to make her jellied limbs move.  “You’re leaving?” she asked, feeling the pressed-down panic fight its way back to the surface.  As much as she didn’t want him there, the thought of him leaving her alone was somehow even worse.  Crowley was a known entity, more or less: If he was going to come on to her or molest her, he would at least be fairly gentle about it, for a demon. He wasn’t going to break every bone in her body in the process.  He was, she had to admit, the lesser of all evils. </p><p>                Crowley paused halfway out of bed and looked at her curiously.  “I was just going to sit at your desk,” he said.  “I thought you would sleep better if I wasn’t there to bother you.”</p><p>                Marian managed to raise the hand he’d been holding earlier, but it felt heavy.  Her arm started to shake, and it dropped back onto her stomach.  “Yes, but—I don’t—Crowley, please…” She whimpered as hot tears of frustration filled her eyes. </p><p>                “Hey, easy, easy,” Crowley murmured.  He sat down beside her and ran his hand through her hair. </p><p>                “Please don’t leave.”</p><p>                “I’m not going to leave.  I just want you to feel safe.”  He continued to pet her, and she relaxed again, the sedation once more taking control. </p><p>                She was so used to sleeping next to him, it had become…Normal, almost.  His presence was disturbing and comforting at the same time, but leaned more towards ‘comforting.’  Holy Hell, he really was corrupting her.  “Stay.  Please.”</p><p>                Crowley kissed the top of her head.  “Of course, love.”  He slid down so that he was lying beside her again, and gently rolled her onto her side, wrapping his arm around her waist and hugging her against him.  “My little fallen angel.  You’re all mine.  No one else will ever touch you again.”</p><p>                That was a vaguely ominous statement, Marian thought; but it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the sedative effect she was under.  She slowly drifted off to sleep, her anxieties held at bay.</p><p> </p><p>                &lt;<em>Marian woke with a start when someone bit her neck.  Her eyes flew open and she tried to move away, but Crowley had her wrists pinned at her sides, kneeling between her legs.  </em></p><p>
  <em>                “No sleeping, angel.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Crowley?  What—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                The demon snapped his fingers and she was naked.  “I’d wanted you to fall in love with me, but you’re taking far too long.  I’m not a patient demon, darling; so I’m just going to take you, and hope you get knocked up eventually.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Crowley shoved two fingers inside her; she went to kick him away, but suddenly she was aware that all her friends and family were surrounding them, along with…Oh shit…Around six thousand people, if she had to guess.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Ah-ah, none of that,” he chided.  “Unless you want all of these humans to die.  No kicking, no biting, no punching, and none of those nasty little exorcisms you’re so fond of.”  He nipped her neck again.  “But go ahead and squirm all you want,” he whispered in her ear.  “I like the idea of you squirming under me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Her parents were watching.  Erica was watching, along with David and the other hunters that were included in her deal.  Or…Maybe they weren’t really there?  It was hard to focus on anything with Crowley doing…What she was trying to pretend he wasn’t doing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Oh, and one more thing.  I got a little inspiration from Lester…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                He snapped again, and Marian’s head exploded in pain as the bones in her arms and legs shattered again.  She screamed.&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Marian stopped screaming as she realized her bones were still intact.  She was clothed, and under the covers, and Crowley wasn’t fingering her or straddling her; he was sitting next to her, reading a book in the dark, though he’d paused to look at her in what was either concern or curiosity.  He set the book aside and brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair out of her face.  She flinched at his touch.</p><p>                “It’s alright, angel.  You were just dreaming.  You’re safe.”</p><p>                She looked up at him suspiciously.  Had he caused her to have that dream?  Was it some new little torture he’d devised?  What if his (almost non-existent) patience had grown thin, and this was his not-so-subtle way of telling her that if she didn’t get with the program, he’d give her a live-action replay of what happened with Lester?  Maybe he thought that she &lt;<em>should&gt;</em> love him, since he’d rescued her from the other demon. </p><p>                What if he’d set up the whole thing with Lester just to come across as a hero?</p><p>                He was so territorial, though.  Would he really let another demon touch her, let alone rape her?  He’d seemed so angry when he’d broken through the wall; it hadn’t felt like he was faking it. </p><p>                She was making herself dizzy with her own runaway train of thought. </p><p>                “Angel?”  Crowley slid down until he was level with her and gently squeezed her shoulder.  “Hey.  He can’t hurt you now; you know that, right?”</p><p>                She hid her face in his chest and shook her head; he wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her back, which seemed to be the one trick he knew that would calm her down. </p><p>                “Would you like to come with me when I kill him?”</p><p>                She shook her head; she didn’t want to see Lester again, and she certainly didn’t want <em>him </em>to see <em>her</em>. </p><p>                “You could watch the security feed from the TV right here in your room.”</p><p>                That didn’t sound too bad.  She nodded. </p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “Alright.  Now, go back to sleep.”  He touched her forehead and she felt his power tingle all the way back to the nape of her neck. </p><p>                She shivered.  “What did you do?”</p><p>                “I stopped your ability to dream,” he explained.  “No more nightmares tonight.”</p><p>                He put his hand on her back again and continued with the gentle massage, and eventually she fell back asleep.  Crowley went back to his work, but his mind was elsewhere.  He didn’t like the way she’d just looked at him, like he’d been the one who hurt her.  True; he loved torturing his little angel, but it was all in good fun.  He knew better than to do what Lester had done, and damage his relationship with her beyond repair.  But humans were fragile, mentally and emotionally.  Could Lester’s actions destroy everything Crowley had worked so hard to achieve? </p><p>                She’d asked him to stay, though.  She’d wanted him to hold her, and damn if that wasn’t the best thing he’d felt in over 300 years.  Yes, she was still afraid of him, and now she was afraid of him because of something he hadn’t even done; but it still gave him a little thrill that she wanted him. </p><p>                His mind wandered to all the things he was going to do to Lester.  He had a few new concepts he’d been meaning to try for a while, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.  And if they didn’t work out, well, there were always the old tried-and-true methods.  Demons were harder to torture than damned souls: They had already been there, been-impaled-by-that, and usually pain was just a turn-on for them.  So Crowley had to get creative.  He was going to make an example of Lester: Let all of Hell know that No One Fucks With the King of the Crossroads, especially not his angel. </p><p> </p><p>                When she woke up, Crowley was still sitting next to her, poring over contracts with the TV news playing in the background.</p><p>                Marian felt like her soul had been hit by a truck.  She sat up, feeling like she was moving in slow-motion.  Crowley looked over at her and smiled.  It looked like a real smile, not the creepy, serpentine one he had when he was plotting something.</p><p>                “How do you feel?”</p><p>She rubbed her temple.  “I’m…Okay.  Slow.  Head hurts.”  She blinked and tried to focus on a clock.  “D’you have work?” </p><p>“Yes.  I was just waiting for you to wake up.  You’ll be alright without me, won’t you?”  She nodded, and he squeezed her shoulder.  “That’s my girl.  I shouldn’t be gone more than eight or ten hours.  You just relax today; you’re still recovering your grace.”  Crowley leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then stood and brushed off his suit.  “You’ll be safe here, angel.  I’ll see you soon.” </p><p>                The demon vanished, and Marian slouched back in bed.  She wanted to go back to sleep, but…Well, no matter what Crowley said, she didn’t &lt;<em>feel&gt;</em> safe.  She knew she was defenseless against Crowley, and she’d more or less come to terms with that, but it was all the &lt;<em>other&gt; </em>demons out there—demons like Lester—that she wanted to protect herself against.  She’d thought she was safe with the other hunters, but she wasn’t.  How could she be sure that she was safe here?</p><p> </p><p>                “Doctor Freud,” Crowley greeted, stepping into the cell.  “Can I stop by without an appointment?”</p><p>                A tortured soul, hanging upside-down with meathooks through his ankles, looked up (or down?) at him.  He screamed as his torturer carefully carved off a Post-It sized chunk of skin and added it to a growing pile of skin Post-Its. </p><p>                “Aaaagh,” said Freud, choking on blood as it dripped down into his nose and throat.  “Crowley, so good to see you again.  Please come in, make yourself comfortable.  My do—aaaaargh Mary Mother of Christ—door is always open.”</p><p>                Crowley nodded to the demon torturing him, and it left without a word, wiping the blood off its hands as it disappeared down the hall.  Crowley shut the door behind him. </p><p>                “Ahh,” Freud sighed, relaxing even as blood continued to drip down his face and hands onto the floor.  “What brings you to my neck of the woods, sir?  More trouble with your fallen angel?”</p><p>                Crowley leaned against a relatively clean wall, crossing his arms over his chest.  “I let her see her friends.  One of them died; it really upset her.”</p><p>                “That was kind of you.”</p><p>                “It was a disaster.  Lester found out about her somehow—probably Lucifer himself, the bastard—and caught her before I could take her back.  He set his little minions on me, and I had to kill them all before I could get to her.”</p><p>                “Lester.  Head torturer Lester?”</p><p>                “<em>Ex</em>-head torturer, now that I’ve got him.  He thought he could take &lt;<em>my&gt;</em> angel away from me…MY ANGEL.”  His eyes flared red and sparks shot off the far wall. </p><p>                “He hurt her?”  The doctor was unphased by Crowley’s little flare in temper. </p><p>                “He raped her,” Crowley growled.  “Blocked her voice so she couldn’t exorcise him, broke her arms and legs, and raped her.  &lt;<em>My&gt;</em> angel.”  He started to pace around the cell.  “I told you how skittish she is about sex, and Lester had to go and rape her—&lt;<em>fuck</em>.&gt;”  He punched the stone wall, spraying little chunks of rock everywhere.  “So now we’re back to square one.”</p><p>                Freud coughed out a pebble.  “Maybe so, and maybe not.  How did she get away from him?  I assume you have her back, yes?”</p><p>                “Yes, I have her back.  Lester had the place warded, but her grace activated and broke one of the seals.”  He sighed, looking at the dent in the wall he’d made.  “Her grace should restore itself naturally, but I’ve no idea how long that will take.  Everything there is to read on the matter is about real angels, not one that’s been…Humanized.”</p><p>                “But you rescued her,” Freud prompted.</p><p>                “Hmm?  Oh.  Yes, I suppose I did.  Is that helpful?”</p><p>                “Normally I’d say yes, extremely.  You’re her knight in shining armor now.”  The chains twisted, turning him around in a circle.  “However, I’m not sure about these ‘hunter’ types you’ve described.  She doesn’t sound like the kind of female who enjoys being saved; she’s normally the one who does the saving.”</p><p>                “That’s…True.  Hold on, are you saying I &lt;<em>shouldn’t&gt;</em> have saved her?”</p><p>                “No!  No, this is definitely a good thing.  You’ve been the bad guy up to this point—in her eyes, at least.  But now you’re her savior, too.”  He rotated around again, chains clinking.  “You’re still the bad guy, but you’re…Less bad.  This abduction may just be the thing that helps you go from ‘enemy’ to ‘friend.’  And then it’s just a small leap from ‘friend,’ of course, to where you need to be.”</p><p>                “Yes, right.  So just…Keep doing what I’m doing.”</p><p>                “Is the change in her grace affecting you?”</p><p>                “Pardon?”</p><p>                “We’ve discussed how her semi-angelic properties seem to affect your capacity to feel emotions.  Have you noticed a decrease in that ability now that her grace is depleted?”</p><p>                Crowley shook his head.  “If anything, I’m feeling <em>more</em>.  It’s like…I understand what she’s feeling because I’ve felt it too—I can remember being tortured in the pits, and I don’t even know why I remember that…”</p><p>                “Empathy,” Freud said.  “You’re experiencing empathy.”</p><p>                “Ugh.”  The demon looked disgusted.  “Is there a cure?”</p><p>                “No, that’s good too!  It means you can relate to her.”</p><p>                “I don’t want that weak human crap,” he huffed.  “I just want to make her happy.  I want to be the <em>reason</em> she’s happy.”</p><p>                “And <em>that,</em> my good demon, is what love is.”</p><p>                “Hack,” Crowley muttered, and slammed the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>                Marian jolted awake, sensing another presence in the room.  She had fallen asleep facing the foot of her bed, surrounded by newspapers and notebooks.  There were also packs of gauze, scissors, bloody rags, and her three-inch folding knife (useless on a demon, but handy for opening packages or cutting through rope).  She stared at everything in a daze, trying to remember how she’d gotten here. </p><p>                “I see you redecorated while I was gone,” Crowley said, snapping her back to the present.  “It’s not exactly my style, but I’ll get used to it.”  He looked up at the ceiling above her bed, and she followed his gaze. </p><p>                There was a devil’s trap painted above her.  She had a vague feeling that she’d put it there, but it was hard to remember, like it was part of a dream.  What the Hell was happening to her? </p><p>                “I…I didn’t…I mean, I guess I must’ve, but I don’t remember—”  She cut herself off, looking down at her arms.  Both her forearms were bandaged, and she could feel the long cuts underneath.  Yes; it was starting to come back to her.  “I panicked.  It was the only thing I could think of that would work…”  She stood up and her head felt light and fuzzy, like she might pass out, but she took a clean end of a rag and wiped a clear spot through the trap, breaking its power.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking about—I forgot it would work on you.” </p><p>                She sank back onto the mattress, looking down at her bandaged arms.  Not only was she moving in slow motion, she was &lt;<em>thinking&gt;</em> in slow motion; she knew Crowley would be angry about the trap, and part of her worried that he would threaten to kill her friends because it was an act of aggression, but she hadn’t meant it to be one.  Hell, she hadn’t meant to make it at all; it just sort of happened, in that weird, over-panicked, sleepwalking dream state.  But now she was too tired to panic, and she was too dehydrated to cry. </p><p>                She flinched as Crowley sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.  “It’s alright, love.  I understand.”</p><p>                <em>Marian</em> didn’t understand; how could he?  She let her head drop to his shoulder.</p><p>                Crowley ran a hand over her bandaged forearm.  “You used your own blood?”</p><p>                “Didn’t have anyone else’s,” she answered.  “Couldn’t find any paint.”</p><p>                “Ah.”  He carefully undid the taping and peeled the gauze off, then held his hand over the long, wrist-to-elbow wound.  Her skin burned as he healed her; he then repeated the process with her other arm.  “There.  Good as new.”</p><p>                She ran her fingertips over the newly healed skin, brushing away flecks of dried blood.  “Thank you.”</p><p>                He kissed the top of her head.  “I will &lt;<em>always&gt;</em> take care of you.  And when I’m not around…”  He pulled something out of his blazer; Marian picked her head up, half curious and half apprehensive.  Crowley held a knife out to her, offering it hilt first. </p><p>                It was her angel blade.</p><p>                She looked at the blade, then at Crowley, then back to the blade.  Was this a trick?  A trap?  She could actually <em>kill</em> him with this.  Granted, if she <em>tried,</em> over six thousand people including her friends and parents would die instantly.  And Crowley wasn’t stupid: he’d be watching for her to attack, and could stop her easily.  Then everyone would die, but he would still be alive…She shook her head.  It wasn’t worth the risk.</p><p>                “It’s alright,” he said soothingly.  “Take it.  It’s yours.”</p><p>                She reached out cautiously, like he might smack her hand away at any moment.  Her hand closed around the hilt and Crowley let go of the blade; moving slowly and deliberately, so he knew she wasn’t going to attack him, she brought the knife into her lap and looked it over.  There were faint Enochian letters carved into the hilt: This really had been hers, albeit in another life.</p><p>                “I want you to feel safe, even when I’m not here to protect you,” Crowley said.  Marian remained speechless, so he went on, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking: “You could <em>try</em> to kill me, sure; but I think you love your friends more than you hate me.”</p><p>                Marian turned the hilt around in her hand.  God, she’d missed holding a weapon.  She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed it until now: she didn’t want to let go of it, but if she didn’t she knew she’d end up doing something terminally stupid.  She leaned across the bed and set it down on her nightstand, where it would be safe but still visible.  Finding herself still unable to speak, she snuggled back up to the demon and wrapped her arms around him in thanks.</p><p>                Crowley grinned like a snake in the sun and hugged her back. </p><p>                Marian shivered and made a strange wheezing sound in the back of her throat.</p><p>                “You alright?”</p><p>                “Yeah, just…Feel kinda weird.  Tired.  Probably just the whole grace thing.”</p><p>                Crowley held her at arms’ length and noted the dull look in her eyes.  “Or it could be blood loss,” he said, nodding to the artwork above their heads.  “Have you had anything to eat or drink recently?”</p><p>                She shook her head; food hadn’t been on her radar, only anxiety. </p><p>                Crowley moved her to the head of the bed, propping her up against a pile of pillows, and produced a cup of tea from…Wherever it was he pulled things from.  He settled down next to her and they watched TV like two normal humans (assuming one of those humans was eyeing celebrities for potential souls it could buy).  Marian would glance at the angel blade every few minutes, just happy to have it there like a little shiny security blanket.  She was a bit out of practice, but she could probably set up some kind of target practice in the basement and get back into fighting shape. </p><p>                The tea did help.  She probably needed to drink a half-gallon of water before she felt like herself again, but she could do that in the morning.  She set the cup down on her nightstand and grabbed the knife, wrapping the blade with one of the rags she’d used to ‘paint’ the devil’s trap.  She slid under the blankets and laid down on her side, holding the angel blade like she was cuddling a stuffed animal. </p><p>                Crowley chuckled and laid down next to her, propping his head up so he could keep one eye on the weapon.  “Is this how all hunters sleep?”</p><p>                “Just the crazy ones.”  She yawned and curled her legs up toward her chest.  “Do you have to go back tonight?”  She was trying to sound casual about it, like she didn’t care either way, but there was an inescapable note of trepidation in her voice. </p><p>                Crowley noticed.  “No, I can stay,” he said with a grin, “If you want me to.”</p><p>                Damn him for posing it as a choice for her!  If she said ‘no,’ he’d leave, and angel blade or no angel blade she was going to freak out again; if she said ‘yes,’ she was admitting that she was more comfortable with him around than without him, and she really didn’t want to admit that. </p><p>                She bit her lip and nodded.  She could practically feel the smugness radiating from the demon as his arm tightened around her waist.  &lt;<em>How the Hell did this get to be my life?  How did spooning with the king of the crossroads become the new normal?  You have to do as he says, but that doesn’t mean you have to enjoy it!&gt;  </em>She was so disgusted with herself that she wanted to punch herself in the face.</p><p>                Crowley kissed the top of her head.  “Of course, angel.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21: Japan has a Fox Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's time for a vacation!  </p><p>...But seriously, can I have a vacation?  2021 is just 2020: The Sequel, and I'm over it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marian woke up and immediately realized that her head was too hot.  Her hair was soaked with sweat; even her ear was sweating into the pillow.  And that’s because her pillow was…Oh <em>fuck</em>. </p><p>                She sat up quickly, narrowly avoiding Crowley’s elbow in her rush to get her head off his thigh.  He rolled up a scroll he’d been reading and tossed it to the foot of the bed, turning his attention to her.  She felt the world start to tilt, and braced her arm under her side.  Crowley stacked a couple of pillows behind her and motioned for her to lie down.  He handed her a bottle of water.</p><p>                “Drink.  You’re lucky you didn’t bleed out yesterday.”</p><p>                Marian hunched her shoulders, sulking like a teenager.  “I knew what I was doing,” she grumbled into the water bottle.</p><p>                “You didn’t even know you were doing it,” Crowley replied, though he didn’t sound angry.  “I got you some spray paint,” he said, nodding to a few cans on her dresser, “So no more cutting, alright?  You need blood, I’ll get you blood, but you aren’t using your own.”</p><p>                She stared down at her own hands.  “Okay.”  Then, a little less sullen: “Thank you for the paint.”</p><p>                Crowley got up, collecting a pile of paperwork.  “I shouldn’t be gone for long today, just have to tie up a few loose ends.”  He waved a hand toward the TV, turning it on, and it brought up a live security camera feed.  “One of which includes our little friend there.  You’re welcome to watch, or not, but I wanted you to have the option.  If you lose the channel, just press ‘6’ to pull it back up.” </p><p>                Marian leaned forward so she could get a better look: It was a little cell, and there was a man in the center, hung from the ceiling by his wrists.  It looked like his head and arms had some sort of chemical burn, which was gradually spreading to the rest of his body.  Every few seconds, he would flinch and hiss. </p><p>                “What’s…Is water dripping on him?”</p><p>                “Holy water.” </p><p>                “…Ah.”</p><p>                “I do have one favor to ask,” Crowley said, producing a large syringe.  Marian eyed it nervously.  “I realize you’re running a bit low, but I just need a little blood.  I’m conducting an experiment.”</p><p>                She held her arm out for him.  It would be a difficult draw, but the demon had more experience than a phlebotomist.  He worked quickly, and Marian hardly felt a thing.</p><p>                “See you later, angel.”  Crowley vanished.</p><p>                Marian sat back, sipping on her water, and kept her eyes on the screen.  She didn’t really want to watch Crowley torture someone to death, but then again, she did want to watch Lester suffer. </p><p>                Except she really didn’t want to look at him at all. </p><p>                Nothing happened for a few minutes, and she filled the time by imagining how he would kill him.  If he’d wanted to just gut him with an angel blade, he would have done that when he’d first caught him:  Crowley wanted the demon to suffer.  Hell, he’d been dripping holy water on him for more than a day—that was…Not a bad idea, really.  So how would he actually kill him?  Douse him in holy oil and set him on fire?  Drown him in a bucket of holy water?  A movement in the corner of the screen caught her attention, and she scooted toward the foot of the bed. </p><p> </p><p>                Crowley unlocked the cell door and stepped inside.  He was wearing a raincoat, rubber gloves, and a blood-stained apron over his suit: he looked like a mad scientist about to raise a monster. </p><p>                “Crowley,” Lester hissed, wincing as another drop of water struck the top of his head.  “Come to finish me off?  Lillith’s not going to be happy with you, you know—”</p><p>                “Let me worry about Lillith,” Crowley replied smoothly, stepping over to a series of valves in the wall.  “You worry about yourself.”</p><p>                Lester licked his lip nervously and leered back at his captor.  “Did you bring your girlfriend?  I was hoping I’d get to say a proper goodbye, at least.” </p><p>                Crowley ignored him and pretended to be interested in the ceiling.  “Bit of a leak in here, have you noticed?  One of these knobs ought to stop that.”  He fiddled with a couple of the valves, and suddenly the water line opened up, dumping gallons of holy water over Lester.  The demon screamed like the damned soul he was and writhed in his shackles.  Crowley twisted the valve the other way, shutting it off.  “Oops.” </p><p>                It looked like he’d been dipped in acid.  Lester’s skin bubbled and peeled; part of his nose was missing, and chunks of his arms were just red, bloody messes.  Blood seeped through his clothing; it was worse under his shirt and pants, because the wet fabric clung to his skin.  He stopped screaming at last, but his body continued to shake; his black eyes flickered red as the holy water ate at his very essence. </p><p>                “Must be uncomfortable in those wet clothes,” Crowley tutted, circling him slowly.  He snapped his fingers and Lester’s clothing vanished.</p><p>                Lester’s teeth chattered.  Blood bubbled up from his throat as he spoke.  “Really, Crowley?  You’re just going to fuck me?  An eye for an eye, is that it—I fuck your angel, so you fuck me?  Not very original, but then, you are just a salesman.”  He swung his head around, trying to keep Crowley in his sight.  The demon was holding something behind his back, and it made him nervous that he couldn’t see what it was.  Probably just some spiked dildo to shove up his ass—again, so unoriginal—but he didn’t like that he wasn’t <em>showing</em> him.  “I did you a favor, really,” he continued, then paused to spit blood onto the floor.  Whatever Crowley was planning, it wouldn’t be enough to break him.  The salesman had no creativity.  It was just sad, really. </p><p>                “She was so tight, but I stretched her out real good for you,” Lester sneered, determined to piss off his rival.  “You can douse me in all the holy water you want, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was balls-deep in your precious little angel’s pussy.  I was so far inside her, I might as well have been possessing her.”</p><p>                Crowley’s eyes flickered red for a moment, and he nearly abandoned his plan in favor of beating the shit out of Lester the old-fashioned way; but the chief of torturing was a glutton for that sort of pain, and it only would have given him what he wanted.  He squared his shoulders, looking calm once again.  He stepped forward and drove a syringe deep into his neck in one fluid movement, injecting a healthy dose of Marian’s blood into the demon. </p><p>“Aargh!” Lester hissed.  “The Hell was that?!”</p><p>                “Do you know why demons are so hard to torture?” Crowley asked conversationally, circling around to Lester’s front.  “Physical pain means nothing to us.  It’s how we were created.  If you want to torture a demon, you’ve got to make him &lt;feel.&gt;” </p><p>                Lester started to twitch.  “What did you do?  What was that?”</p><p>                “A priest in the 40’s, working with the Men of Letters, tried to ‘cure’ demons using human blood.  He was…Successful, more or less.  It wasn’t just blood, of course: He was working on sacred ground, and the blood was purified, blah, blah, blah.  I haven’t got that, but I have got a fallen angel with Grace in her veins.  What could be purer than that?”</p><p>                The demon ground his teeth together.  He began to foam at the mouth like a rabid dog. </p><p>                “Now, I could be absolutely wrong about this.  But I thought, why not try it out?  Just being near her makes me a bloody wreck.  It would make sense that her blood’s even stronger, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>                Lester started to cry.  First there were a few tears, then a little sob, and before long he was bawling his eyes out, snot running down his nose, straining against his bonds as he howled in agony. </p><p>                “I’m sorry, Momma!  I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me, Momma!”  He blubbered on and on, switching from incoherent babbles and wails to heartfelt pleas to his family, friends, and even God.  Lester had a lot of repenting to do.  “I killed the children!  They were screaming, and I loved it—oh God, forgive me!”</p><p>                Crowley was having a hard time following Lester’s train of thought, which seemed to have derailed almost immediately.  His plan had worked better than he’d hoped.  He let him ramble on for a bit longer, letting the wailing and screaming and pleading get louder and louder, until all of Hell would be sure to hear about it.  Lester listed off a litany of crimes, from small, petty tricks to feeding a woman her own dead husband, or wiping out an entire convent. </p><p>                “God, forgive me!” he cried, over and over again.</p><p>                Crowley leaned in close to him, his lips almost against his ear: “Spoiler: He doesn’t.” </p><p>                And he stabbed him with his angel blade.  Lester sparked out, dead.</p><p>               </p><p>                Killing Lester had helped lighten his mood, but Crowley was still pissed off that someone had dared to hurt his angel.  Unable to bring Lester back from the dead to kill him again, he settled for the next best thing: Killing humans.</p><p>                Demons didn’t just run around killing people all the time.  It was bad for business, and tended to draw the attention of hunters, or even angels.  But sometimes, torturing damned souls just wasn’t enough, and some poor schmuck had to pay the price.  It was best to make it look like an accident. </p><p>                What Crowley did…Well, it didn’t look like an accident.  What it looked like was two rival biker gangs that got into a skirmish and fought till every last man and woman was dead.  The crime scene examiners had to conclude that one man had been disemboweled with a pool cue, and another had his head run over by the big 3-wheeler bike used by the rival gang’s oldest member.  Someone had been fed his own entrails.  As far as gang violence went in a small mid-west town, it was pretty sadistic.  It just goes to show how dangerous these biker gangs could be.  Next season, the neighboring towns would vote to outlaw motorcycles from their city limits.</p><p> </p><p>                By the time Crowley returned home that evening, he was feeling a lot better.  Marian was feeling more like herself, as well.  She could walk across a room without feeling like she had to lie down, which was good considering that the amount of fluids she was drinking had her running to the bathroom every hour.  But she seemed to have reached some sort of equilibrium.  She’d even found an old sheath that fit her angel blade so that she could carry it around without slicing her leg open, and having that little bit of power was helping to lift her spirits. </p><p>                That said, she was still anxious and exhausted, and had fallen asleep waiting for the demon.  She jolted awake when she felt his presence next to her and instinctively reached for her blade, but stopped short of pulling it out when she realized it was him. </p><p>                “Ready for your next adventure?”</p><p>                Marian yawned.  “I…Yeah, alright.  Isn’t it late, though?”</p><p>                Crowley grinned.  “It’s early in Japan.”</p><p>                She sat up straighter.  “Japan?”  New Zealand had always been her number one dream spot, but Japan was nice, too.  David’s mother was Japanese and he was always getting ‘care packages’ from his parents filled with noodles and snacks they couldn’t buy in America, and he watched the trippiest anime shows that made hunting look like a perfectly normal career. </p><p>                “I’m guessing you don’t know the language.”</p><p>                <em>No, the shows are always dubbed or subbed,</em> she thought.  She shook her head.</p><p>                Crowley touched her forehead and she felt the familiar unpleasant tingle of demonic energy.  And now she knew Japanese.</p><p>                He let her change and pack a bag, and then they were off.</p><p> </p><p>                Marian found herself outside a café on a long, busy street.  No one seemed to notice two people suddenly appearing out of nowhere.  She looked up at the sign and was able to read the Japanese kanji: “<em>Meow Meow Cat Café and Cuddle Room.”</em></p><p>“A cat café?”</p><p>                Crowley opened the door for her.  “Not your usual hunter’s dive bar, I know.  But I thought, given your history, you might enjoy it.”</p><p>                Her history?  Had he studied every second of her life?  Before she’d almost drowned in the ocean and remembered that she had been an angel, and her life had become focused on hunting, she’d had a different passion: Animals.  She’d always had pets—mice, hamsters, cats, dogs, rabbits—and she’d been volunteering at her local animal shelter (with parental supervision) since she was ten years old.  She’d talked about becoming a vet or an animal trainer; she’d wanted to train search and rescue dogs, or movie dogs, or work with seals and dolphins at marine rehabilitation facilities.  She trained a cat to jump through a hoop, and a rabbit to fetch a ball.  Any money she got as birthday and Christmas presents went toward riding lessons.  She absolutely loved anything cute and furry (or less furry, in the case of the dolphins, but just as cute).  Once she’d realized she was a fallen angel, though, all of that had more or less gone out the window.  She’d still cared for her animals while she lived at home, but once she was on her own she knew she didn’t have the time or energy to devote to anything else that breathed, so she’d left all that behind her.</p><p>                And now she was stepping through a little partition, and there were kittens everywhere, and they were <em>Japanese</em> kittens, which were extra cute with their big, round eyes and fuzzy little faces.  She sat down on a cushion on the floor and one crawled right into her lap, and Crowley sat down at a table a few feet away, watching her.  There were only a few other people this early in the day, and they looked like tourists from other countries.  A couple of women were speaking French, and there was a family speaking accented English that, if she had to guess, came from the Philippines. </p><p>                The café workers brought tea for her and toys and treats for the kittens.  Crowley was acting very <em>human</em>, which was vaguely unsettling, asking her questions about her childhood pets.  He was trying to ignore the cats, but the cats were not ignoring him: Several tried to jump onto his lap, or tried to attack his shoelaces, and some simply stared at him. </p><p>                “They like you,” Marian said, giggling as another kitten attacked his shoe.</p><p>                Crowley picked up a little black cat that had crawled onto his lap and set it back on the floor.  “Cats are very perceptive,” he replied.  “They’re one of the only living creatures that can see ghosts and demons.”  His tone was casual, in case any of the café’s other occupants spoke English as well, but the implication was clear: The kittens knew he was a demon.</p><p>                Marian cocked her head to the side.  “They don’t seem bothered by it.  I think they like that you’re so warm.”</p><p>                The black cat crawled back onto his lap and took an interest in his tie.  Crowley carefully removed it before it could do any damage.  “Yes.  Fantastic.”</p><p>               </p><p>                The next stop on their trip was the Izu Shaboten Zoo, which wasn’t like the zoos Marian was used to.  There were beautiful botanical gardens and hot springs, and she was allowed to feed and pet many of the animals, including a capybara.  She was so mesmerized by everything, she kept forgetting that she was running around with a demon.  Occasionally she would glance at him, expecting him to be bored or impatient with her, but he would just smile and motion for her to carry on.  There was a dark building where nocturnal animals like bats and a few small primates were kept: Marian was having trouble seeing anything, so Crowley gave her (temporary) night-vision so that she could get a better look. </p><p>                Lunch was at Tokyo’s premier penguin café.  The penguins, unlike the kittens, were not huge fans of Crowley, though one did try to steal his watch (they were warned that the birds liked shiny things).  The café had a giant aquarium that the penguins could swim around in, or they could waddle around and mingle with customers.  There were multiple species, some from South Africa and some from New Zealand (the little blue penguins again).  Another tourist asked about Emperor penguins, and they were informed that importing giant Antarctic penguins was not a good business plan for the relatively small business.  The whole place smelled like fish, which added to the penguin-ness of it all.  Marian could have spent all day there.</p><p>                They had one more destination, however, and Crowley was convinced that it would be her favorite.  He ported them to an island just off the coast of Hiroshima, appearing on a small beach.  There were a few people sunbathing, and there were a couple of little pop-up shelters with children running around them.  Marian could see a large building farther up the shore—a hotel, possibly?--and what looked like abandoned factories in the distance.        </p><p>                Then she saw the rabbits. </p><p>                There were a handful of them sitting on some large rocks not far from the tourists.  And there were more in the grass above the sand.  A boy was tossing them little food pellets. </p><p>                “Welcome to Rabbit Island,” Crowley said.  “Where the rabbits are wild but friendly, and there are no natural predators so they multiply like—well, like rabbits.”</p><p>                Marian made a little squealing sound in the back of her throat.  “This.  Is.  Awesome.”</p><p>                Crowley smiled.  “Come on; I’ll get us checked in to the hotel and we’ll find you some rabbits to be friends with.”</p><p>                “We’re <em>staying here?</em>” she gasped, hurrying after him. </p><p>                “They’re more active at dawn and dusk, so staying on-site gives you a better chance at seeing them.  I’ve heard the restaurant’s good, too.”</p><p>                Marian was floating on air for the rest of the day.  Either Crowley had a knack for locating small, defenseless creatures or he was cheating; but he was awesome at finding rabbits.  He even found a litter of baby bunnies, still hanging around their mom, and Marian was able to cuddle with all of them.  Again, he steered the conversation toward her childhood pets, as if she were the most interesting person on the island. </p><p>                “He was a Netherland Dwarf,” Marian said while she petted three gray rabbits.  “Thorin Oakenshield.”</p><p>                Crowley sniffed.  “So you were always a huge nerd, then.”</p><p>                “Yes,” she snapped, glaring back at him.  “And his bro—well, his friend was just a…Whatever kind of rabbit these guys are, I guess.  “Bilbo—”  She hesitated, blushing.  “Bilbo Bunnins.”</p><p>                The demon laughed.  “I love it.  Tell me you sent them on quests, at least.”</p><p>                “Well…They sort of sent <em>themselves</em> on quests.  Thorin liked to steal the cat’s toys and hide them under the dresser.”</p><p>                “Did the cat never attack him?”</p><p>                “Oh, she tried once.  He grunted at her and kicked her in the face, and she left him alone after that.” </p><p>                She laughed as a rabbit crept up beside the demon and started chewing on his shoelace. </p><p>                “Hey!” he snapped.</p><p>                “I’ve got it, hold on,” Marian said, luring the precocious bunny away with a piece of dried parsley.  “Here—you can eat &lt;<em>my&gt;</em> shoelaces, they’re a lot cheaper than his.”</p><p>                “You really think I’d smite a rabbit in front of you for chewing on my shoe?”</p><p>                “No, you’d wait until I had my back turned.”</p><p>                “I would never,” he said with a grin.  “Now, if it were a human, absolutely, but not one of your precious little rabbits.” </p><p>                “Oh.  That’s alright then, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>                Dinner was a lot of food that Marian didn’t get to eat in America.  She never would have trusted a seafood buffet back home, but this was obviously fresh and well-maintained.  There was sushi and grilled octopus and other things that Crowley had to explain to her a couple of times before she understood what they were.  It was certainly cuisine that hunters couldn’t afford (at least not in the mid-west, where most of them were based), and she doubted even David, with his Japanese heritage, had seen everything here. </p><p>                Crowley was still in a good mood, telling Marian about the history of the island while they ate.  It had been a manufacturing site for chemical weapons that had since been banned by the Geneva Convention.  They had tested their products on rabbits, so there had always been rabbits on Rabbit Island, just…Much less happy ones. </p><p>                “It’s rare to have non-human vengeful spirits, because animals just don’t…Think like that,” he said, “But there are definitely some vengeful rabbit spirits on this island.”</p><p>                Marian paused with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth.  “What?”</p><p>                “They aren’t attacking anyone right now; they have little to no interest in tourists.  But I imagine that if any of the original workers, or their descendants, were to return to the island, they might…Take offense.”</p><p>                Marian leaned closer, eyes wide.  “You can see them?”</p><p>                “Oh, yes.  Not everywhere, mind you; there’s only a handful.  I was thinking about taking them back to Hell with me; they might enjoy a change in scenery, and there would be lots of souls for them to attack.”  He shrugged.  “I probably have the people who killed them down in the dungeons anyway; creating weapons of mass destruction rarely gets you a free pass to Heaven.”</p><p>                “I’d help with that.”</p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “I’m sure you would, but they’re not going to respond to a human or an angel.  I’ll let you know how it goes, though.”</p><p> </p><p>                Marian felt remarkably relaxed.  She had her angel blade, and Crowley would be able to spot any demons before they became a problem—not that there were many demons in Japan.  Thanks to Eastern spirituality, they mostly stuck to Western cultures, where people were more open to believing in Heaven and Hell.  People also tended to be greedier in the West, which was always a bonus when trying to buy souls.  The point was, she didn’t feel that she was in any immediate danger, and Crowley was…Not so bad, really.  It was odd, seeing him act so human: Historically, if a demon was being friendly it was a good idea to sprint in the opposite direction if you couldn’t outright kill it.  But he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, or at least that was the vibe he was giving off.  After watching him pet kittens and baby bunnies, it was hard to imagine that this was the same demon who had just hours ago used Holy Water Torture and human blood to destroy his enemy.</p><p>                As she exited the restaurant, she caught a bit of conversation from two women heading toward the buffet:</p><p>                “It’s safe because it’s fresh, right?” a very pregnant woman asked her friend.</p><p>                “No.  Nothing raw, remember?  It’s not about freshness, it’s about…Mercury, or whatever.  No sushi for you until you have that baby.”</p><p>                And just that innocent little snippet reminded her why she was with a demon in the first place.  &lt;<em>You’re just an incubator for the Abomination.</em>  <em>You’re here for him to have sex with you and knock you up so he can help Lucifer destroy the world&gt;.</em>  Her good mood dissolved, and her anxiety took over.  She withdrew into herself, drawing shallow, panicky breaths. </p><p>                “Something wrong, love?” Crowley asked, placing a hand on her back.</p><p>                She shook her head.  Her eyes burned; she could feel tears threatening to spill over, which only made her panic more.  She didn’t want to freak out in this lovely hotel in front of all these people. </p><p>                Crowley steered her outside; the sun was setting and the air was much cooler, with a nice ocean breeze.  It was grounding, but not grounding enough.  He sat her down on a secluded bench, out of sight of the wandering visitors, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.</p><p>                Marian hid her face in his shoulder and cried.  Would she ever stop breaking down in front of him?  It was frustrating, and embarrassing, and made her feel even weaker; then again, she had no power whatsoever in this relationship, so it shouldn’t even be possible to feel weaker than she already was.    </p><p>                “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his suit.  “I just—I can’t stop freaking out.”</p><p>                “You’re just overtired.  Happens to humans all the time; nothing wrong with that.  We should probably call it a night.” </p><p>                Her skin tingled and there was a slight shift in reality, and the surface under her changed from hard wooden slats to a plush mattress.  She lifted her head up to take in her new surroundings: It was a small hotel room, similar to American ones except everything was just a little lower to the ground.  And the doors all slid sideways. </p><p>                Marian’s bag was sitting on the dresser next to the TV.  Once she’d managed to calm down enough that she was breathing normally, she changed and did all the little things humans do to get ready for bed.  But all the while, in the back of her head there was a little voice repeating “<em>he’s just going to fuck you and knock you up.</em>”  It was not a helpful little voice.</p><p>                Crowley had found a bizarre Japanese game show on TV and was still trying to figure out the rules, if there were any, when Marian stumbled into bed.  He motioned for her to sit with him; she put her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. </p><p>                “Want to talk about it?”</p><p>                She shook her head.</p><p>                Crowley brought his other hand forward, holding something gray and fluffy.  “I thought you could use a friend.”</p><p>                The little rabbit looked up at Marian and wiggled his tiny nose.  Marian gasped and nearly choked herself.  “How did you…Isn’t it against the rules to bring one inside?”  She reached out to pet it, practically squealing.</p><p>                “Rules are for humans, darling.  He’s the friendliest one I could find on short notice; I don’t think he’ll mind one night inside.”</p><p>                She almost burst into tears again: How could he be so kind?  It wasn’t fair.  He was the &lt;<em>enemy</em>.&gt;  He was a &lt;<em>demon</em>.&gt;  He shouldn’t even &lt;<em>know&gt;</em> how to do nice things for other people.  &lt;<em>He’s just going to fuck you and knock you up.&gt;</em>  She shook her head.  &lt;<em>Just like Lester.  Except he’s going to make you feel safe first, so you’ll feel betrayed when he finally does hurt you…&gt;</em></p><p>                “It’s alright, angel.  You’re safe,” Crowley said softly, his hand rubbing little circles up and down her back. </p><p>                Oh.  So she <em>was</em> crying again, then.  &lt;<em>Don’t say that I’m safe, how </em>dare<em> you say I’m safe here with you.&gt;</em>  The little rabbit stretched up on its hind legs and started licking the salt tracks from her tears.  Its tongue was so tiny, and it tickled.  Damn, it was hard to stay panicked with a rabbit on her lap.  And because Crowley wasn’t just the source of most of her anxiety, but also the only source of comfort she had available, she snuggled closer to him.  He was so warm, and his hand really did feel good on her back (how did he know how to be gentle, anyway?  He &lt;<em>tortured&gt; </em>people.  Maybe it was like being a dentist—sometimes you had to be delicate and precise in order to hurt people). </p><p>                An odd noise on the TV caught her attention, and she let her focus drift to the insanity of Japanese game shows.  Contestants were playing a game in which one was hoisted up on a giant claw machine, and their partner had to maneuver the claw so that they could grab a gold ball out of a ball pit.  It was distracting enough to calm her brain down to the point where she was no longer freaking out about being raped by demons, though the thoughts still hung in the back of her mind.</p><p>                The winning team won…Bragging rights, apparently, and the losing team was dropped into a slimy green pool.  Marian couldn’t imagine Americans humiliating themselves on TV for anything less than $5000, but these people seemed ecstatic just to make fools of themselves and have a good time.  She knew that Japanese culture was much stricter than in the US, in the sense that people were expected to behave a certain way and not act out; the game shows were an opportunity for individuals to show their individuality—to dress differently, shout like a crazy person, and really let loose.  </p><p>                The next show was called <em>Takeshi’s Castle</em>, and it had actors and a basic storyline but also competitors who were working to storm the castle.  Many contestants wore costumes or had group themes: There were baseball jerseys, boys dressed like female cheerleaders, and even dinosaur costumes.  Two scrawny men were dressed as sumo wrestlers.  Some of the challenges were fairly simple, like grabbing a donut off a string; others were more challenging, like hopping from rock to rock across a stream, only some of the ‘rocks’ were floating platforms that would sink when stepped on.  There were a lot of nasty face-plants.</p><p>                Her rabbit decided it needed a break from cuddling, so Crowley gave it a little box of hay and vegetables it could nibble on.  It inspected the box carefully, then started sprinting around the room, jumping on and off the bed and hopping in little circles.</p><p>                “I think your rabbit’s broken,” Crowley said.</p><p>                Marian smiled.  “Those little hops are called ‘binkies.’  It means he’s happy.”</p><p>                “Ah.  Does it stop, I hope?”</p><p>                It did stop soon after, settling down inside the box and munching away happily.  Crowley motioned for Marian to lie down, and he took up his usual position behind her.  She was still tense, so he gently tilted her toward the mattress and continued to rub her back.  In this position, he could do more of an actual massage, kneading out all the little stress knots that had built up. </p><p>                Seriously, why was he so good at this?  Massage was not part of Torturing 101, and Marian very much doubted it was a part of buying souls.  &lt;<em>No, Torture 101 was more along the lines of raping people and breaking their bones&gt;.</em>  She tensed at the thought, that stupid bit of reality that kept invading her otherwise peaceful day, and sighed heavily in frustration.  Focusing on the truth, on what had happened and what &lt;<em>would&gt;</em> happen, wasn’t helping her.  But she couldn’t just pretend like it hadn’t happened, like Lester hadn’t snapped her arms and legs like toothpicks and slammed his dick into her; and she couldn’t pretend like Crowley wouldn’t do the same thing eventually.  Sure, he’d said she was going to beg him for it, but she really didn’t see that happening.  He had an incredible amount of patience for a demon, but it would wear away at some point.  He was a demon; he would snap, and he would hurt her.  What she &lt;<em>should&gt;</em> do, it seemed, was &lt;<em>act&gt;</em> like she wanted to sleep with him, because as undesirable as that was at least she might be able to avoid the side of torture that accompanied unwanted sex.  All she had to do was get up the nerve to seduce someone she never wanted to seduce.</p><p>                Right.</p><p>                That wasn’t happening.</p><p>                Her eye was drawn back to the TV, where competitors were now trying to run across giant dominoes to get from one platform to another.  A man in a cow costume got halfway across, tipped back, and did a really spectacular ass-first tumble off the obstacle.  Marian focused on that: Watching other people being ridiculous was way better than trying to figure out how she could basically ask a demon to sexually assault her.  Especially when the endgame was destroying the world. </p><p>                <em>Man, </em>she’d really fucked up somewhere.  She’d say it was in getting kicked out of Heaven, but fuck them—she was <em>right,</em> and the angels were wrong.  &lt;<em>Don’t think about that right now, just relax, watch the crazy Japanese TV, don’t think about—&gt;</em></p><p>“What’s wrong, love?”  Crowley’s voice was low and soft.  He sounded human, like he was genuinely concerned about her. </p><p>                &lt;<em>Everything</em>,&gt; she thought.</p><p>                Crowley chuckled, and Marian realized she’d actually said it aloud. </p><p>                “I—I didn’t mean to say that.  I’m just…I keep thinking about stuff I don’t want to think about.”</p><p>                “Mmm.  Honestly, I’m amazed by how well you’ve been doing.  It must be the angel or the hunter in you, or both, but you’re remarkably resilient.”</p><p>                Marian’s spine tingled as he pressed the heel of his palm between her shoulder blades and pulled his hand all the way down her back.  Gods, that felt good.</p><p>                “Hmm?” she replied.</p><p>                He repeated the motion; she could practically hear him smirk with satisfaction, knowing he’d found another thing she couldn’t resist.  “What he did to you—that’s one of the more basic forms of torture used on souls in Hell.  It’s completely unoriginal and lacks finesse, of course, but it’s basic because it works.  Nothing breaks a soul better than sexual violation.  You can stab needles into a man’s eyeballs all day and he’ll scream; but shove a dick in his ass and he’ll be a quivering, sobbing mess for ages.”  Marian tensed, and he added: “Sorry, that sounded less crass in my head.  The point is, it’s natural for you to break down.  It’s a very human thing to do.” </p><p>                She was quiet for a moment, working up the courage to ask: “Why &lt;<em>didn’t&gt;</em> you just…Do what he did?  Seems like it’d be much easier than being nice to me and doing all the awesome stuff we did today.”</p><p>                Crowley’s hand paused on her lower back, then continued to massage her.  “You know why.”</p><p>                “It doesn’t make sense, though.  The whole ‘bonded’ thing—I mean, I get that a human can love a demon, but how does a demon bond to a human?  They’re only capable of loving themselves.”</p><p>                “Really.  Did the angels teach you that?”</p><p>                Marian’s brow furrowed.  “It’s just…Common knowledge.  Isn’t it?”</p><p>                “Of course Heaven would push their anti-demon propaganda.  We may be a bunch of twisted, mutilated souls, but we still have feelings…Mostly bad ones, but there are instances of demons falling in love with humans and even angels.  Arguably the greatest friendship of all time is between an angel and a demon, though you won’t hear either side talk about it.”</p><p>                “The greatest—” Marian turned her head to the side so that she could look at him.  “How do you know about it, if no one talks about it?”</p><p>                “I pay attention.  And I happen to be in the right places at the right times.”</p><p>                Marian felt her heart sink a little.  She’d been able to rationalize her decision to save her friends and family by telling herself that the prophecy was bogus anyhow, because it required a demon to love something other than itself.  If what Crowley was saying was true, then Agnes might really have known what she was talking about.  Marian might have really signed up to produce the Abomination.  She turned her face away from him again. </p><p>                “The angel that guarded the Eastern Gate of Eden, and the snake that told Eve to eat the apple,” Crowley continued.</p><p>                “I thought that was Lucifer.”</p><p>                “Ha!  A little errand like that?  No, he sent a demon to do his work.  And that demon and that angel have been stationed on Earth ever since, supposedly working against each other.  They do lunch an awful lot for a pair of enemies, though.  And I’ve caught the angel doing the demon’s work, and vice versa.  They seem to have an…Understanding.” </p><p>                Marian nearly jumped out of her skin when the rabbit jumped onto her legs.  He’d made no sound as he’d moved across the room, and she’d just about forgotten he existed.  She turned onto her side more so that she could pet him as he crept up the bed to sniff her. </p><p>                “Hey little buddy.  How you doin’?  You miss your little bunny family yet?”</p><p>                As she leaned back against Crowley, he slipped his arm around her waist.  The rabbit sniffed his hand, then settled down against Marian’s chest and started to chew on her hair.  She petted his little nose the way her childhood rabbits liked.  He didn’t seem stressed out, but she still felt bad for taking him away from the other rabbits.  She didn’t dare ask Crowley to put him back yet though, and risk sounding ungrateful. </p><p>                Crowley seemed to pick up on her thoughts anyway (she was now about 50% sure that he couldn’t flat-out read her mind).  “Shall I take him home for the night?  I know you’re feeling guilty about keeping him away.”</p><p>                Marian blushed.  “I do feel bad about it.  He…Doesn’t seem to mind, though.”</p><p>                The demon kissed the top of her head.  “Mmm.  Well, animals are good at hiding fear.  Just like humans.”  He removed his arm from her waist and touched the rabbit.  “He’ll go right back to where I found him.”</p><p>                The bunny vanished, and Crowley wrapped his arm around her again, pulling her tighter against him.  Marian’s head was spinning with so many thoughts racing around, most of them negative, mostly related to being attacked by demons.  The odd thought would pass by, &lt;<em>demons are capable of loving others?&gt;</em>  And she would dismiss it as Crowley’s pro-demon propaganda, but then another thought would float in, &lt;<em>But what if he’s telling the truth?  What if, someday, he does those kind things for me because he cares about me, and not just because he’s playing some long con game where the end goal is to hurt me anyway?&gt;</em> </p><p>                &lt;<em>Oh, shut up.  What are you, five?  Of course he’s not going to care about you for real.  He’s a demon.&gt;</em></p><p>
  <em>                &lt;But if demons can—&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                &lt;I’m going to go insane.&gt;</em>
</p><p>She wished she could talk to her friends about everything, but after what had happened the last time she was with them she assumed another meet-up wasn’t in the cards.  Hell, she doubted he’d even let her &lt;<em>call&gt;</em> them again.  And asking him if she could call Erica just to talk about &lt;<em>him&gt;</em> seemed…Well, unlikely to succeed.  She’d just have to be like the rabbit: Hide her fear.  Hide her feelings.  Just do what she needed to in order to survive. </p><p>                Right now, she just needed to sleep.</p><p>                “You’ll be alright, angel,” Crowley purred, kissing her cheek.  “Everything’s going to be alright.”</p><p> </p><p>                Marian jolted awake from another nightmare about Crowley assaulting her, only this time he’d also killed all the rabbits on Rabbit Island in front of her.  The real Crowley was sitting next to her, going over more paperwork.  He set it aside and gave her a concerned look.</p><p>                “Nightmares again?”</p><p>                She nodded; he slid down to her level and slipped his arm around her, drawing her into him.  She shivered and buried her face in his chest.  &lt;<em>This is what you get for defying Heaven</em>,&gt; part of her said.  Another part, the angry, defiant part, shot back: &lt;<em>No, screw Heaven for wanting to forsake God’s creation.  Screw Heaven right to Hell; I did what was right.&gt;</em></p><p>                “What time is it?”</p><p>                “About 1 am.  You’ve only been asleep for a few hours.”</p><p>                She groaned.  “Can you do that thing again so I don’t dream?”</p><p>                Crowley hesitated.  “…Yes.  I can’t do that all the time, though; it can make you go insane, not being able to dream.”  He touched the top of her head and she felt the tingly burn of his power trickle through her head. </p><p>                “Mmm-kay.  Thank you,” she mumbled.  And she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.</p><p> </p><p>                The following morning began with more bunny snuggles, and then they were off to sight-see at some of Japan’s most spectacular and out-of-the-way temples.  Since she’d studied religion…Well, religiously, Marian was familiar with most of the customs and imagery, but seeing everything in person was different from reading about it in books.  Angels, as a rule, left the non-Christian temples alone: No one prayed to them (though the angels heard their prayers anyway), and there was nothing explicitly Satanic going on, so the ‘minor’ religions mostly flew under Heaven’s radar. </p><p>                Everything was beautiful and serene.  The few tourists present remained quiet and respectful (except for a few Americans, who made their whole country look bad with their loud and boisterous behavior).  Crowley told her that the temples hosted benign spirits: For the most part they left him alone, but at one temple he decided to leave early because they were eyeing him like a pack of Dobermans at a junkyard. </p><p>                Lunch was at an unassuming little restaurant in Kyoto.  It looked no different on the outside from all the other shops, except that this one was twice as busy.</p><p>                “The man who owns this shop,” Crowley explained as they sat down, “His grandfather was a client.  People around here don’t normally…Lean toward demons, but this fellow knew what he was doing.  He wanted to make the best ramen in Japan, and he wanted his children and his children’s children, blah blah blah, to make the best ramen in Japan.  He didn’t want some grand and fancy restaurant, or to be famous across the country.  He just wanted to be the best.”</p><p>                It really was the best.  He showed her the right way to eat it (apparently Japanese-style ramen was more complicated than dropping a brick of noodles into boiling water), and the owner came over to thank them for stopping by. </p><p>                Marian was shocked.  “You—he—you &lt;<em>like&gt; </em>Crowley?”</p><p>                “Oh yes, we love Mr. Crowley,” the man replied with a smile.  “Grandfather always said he owed his success to him, and we still believe he brings us good luck.”</p><p>                “Huh.”  She had never heard anyone associate Crowley with good luck before; it seemed…wrong.  But she wasn’t about to correct the man, especially not with Crowley sitting right there.  Evidently, Grandfather hadn’t explained that he was going to be ripped apart by hellhounds ten years after his restaurant took off, and his family had probably come up with some perfectly natural reason for his unsightly death. </p><p>                Crowley seemed to be following her train of thought.  Once the nice man was out of earshot, he leaned across the table and said quietly: “Heart attack, two weeks before he was due.  Much better way to go.  He never told anyone in his family what he’d done.”</p><p>                Oh.  That was…Better, then. </p><p>                After lunch, the demon had one more animal-related destination up his sleeve.  There was a ‘fox sanctuary’ that promised free-range foxes, feeding, petting, etc, and he knew that would be Marian’s kind of place, so he didn’t bother to look into it any further before bringing her.</p><p>                It was not, from Marian’s point of view, a sanctuary.</p><p>                It was fox Hell.</p><p>                There <em>were </em>free-range foxes, but they were skinny and mangy, fighting viciously over pellets tossed by tourists.  Some foxes were kept on short chains, and were either too skinny or morbidly obese.  Still more foxes were in small cages, reminiscent of puppy mills, with just enough room to stand up and turn around.  All of them looked miserable.  Where were the healthy foxes that were on the posters and brochures?  These all needed help, and it didn’t look like they were getting it: they were probably much healthier before they’d been ‘rescued.’ </p><p>                Marian was practically in tears, angry and upset.  She hadn’t pushed back against Heaven just for humans to abuse animals like this—and they called it a tourist attraction!  These animals were suffering &lt;<em>for people’s entertainment!</em>&gt;</p><p>                “Sorry, love; I thought it would be like the rabbits,” Crowley apologized, feeling the last of his angel’s good mood slip away. </p><p>                Marian knelt by a chained fox and scratched its chest.  The chain had worn away all the fur around its neck, and it was starting to develop sores.  “I just…I wish I could do something.  I know I’m not hunting anymore, but I still want to help people.  Even if those people…Aren’t really people.”  The fox chittered at her, making a sound like purring, and she swallowed a lump in her throat.  “Shit, you could take lessons from these people!  What the fuck is wrong with them?  Either they’re too stupid to know what they’re doing is wrong, or they just don’t care.  Either way…”</p><p>                She stood, clearing her throat, and tried to discreetly swipe moisture out of the corner of her eye.  Crowley looked at her thoughtfully.</p><p>                “You really care about them, don’t you,” he said.</p><p>                Marian nodded, glaring at a tourist who was apparently enjoying watching the foxes fight over his food. </p><p>                “What would you do for them, if you could?”</p><p>                She shrugged.  “Don’t know what you <em>can</em> do at this point; if they were in America, most of them would probably be euthanized ‘cause they’re so sick.  If I was an angel, though…I’d find a forest for them.  That way, even if they’re going to die, at least they’ll be free.  Being stuck here, just to make money off tourists…Anything’s better than living like this.  Captivity sucks.”</p><p>                She suddenly realized the parallel between the captive foxes and her own captivity, and realized she had it much better than they did.  There was something wrong with the world when a demon was a kinder captor than humans. </p><p>                “Hmm.”  He gave her a long look, studying her, like he was flipping through her thoughts for the ones he wanted.  She still wasn’t sure that he couldn’t do that.  After a moment’s consideration he seemed to reach a decision, and snapped his fingers. </p><p>                The cages disappeared, but the foxes did not.  Every barrier, in fact, disappeared: Cages, fences, chains and leashes all vanished.  Foxes stood still, blinking in dumb surprise for a moment, unsure of what was happening.  Then, one by one, realization dawned in their sad little gummed-up eyes. </p><p>                Marian took a step sideways toward the demon.  “Crowley…”</p><p>                Throughout the ‘sanctuary,’ there were multiple vending machines that dispensed little food pellets for the foxes.  These all spontaneously broke, spilling their entire contents onto the ground.  Many foxes ran for the food.  They didn’t even bother fighting: there were a few snaps and growls, but any unlucky fox merely moved on to the next feeding station. </p><p>                The foxes who weren’t interested in food decided this would be an excellent time to escape.  They ran in every direction, causing a panic among the human staff and visitors.  People who attempted to stop them were snapped at; children had snacks swiped right out of their hands; the smallest children were knocked over in the foxes’ haste to escape their prison. </p><p>                A couple of the worse-off caged foxes were unable to walk.  They looked days away from death, and it broke Marian’s heart. </p><p>                Crowley saw her expression and followed her gaze to the dying animals.  With another snap, the foxes died instantly. </p><p>                Marian gasped in shock.  “Why did you do that?!”</p><p>                “They were going to die anyway.  It’s not like there’s a nice vet on hand that would euthanize them, or they would have done it already.”  He closed the distance between them and slid his arm around her shoulders.  “They didn’t feel a thing, I promise.  Come on; let’s enjoy the show.”</p><p>                They ported to the entrance, where dozens of foxes were now flooding past what had been the entry gates, bounding down a dirt road surrounded by forest.  Mangy and emaciated, with green discharge coming out of their eyes and noses, they nevertheless managed to look happy as they fled.  A few humans were running around behind them, shouting and waving and generally acting like lunatics.  They probably thought they &lt;<em>were&gt;</em> lunatics: How else could they explain the sudden disappearance of all their fencing?  A pudgy, overfed white fox hopped into an open vehicle, swiping food from the passenger seat.  A cluster of little pups chased after each other, their mother nudging them forward. </p><p>                There was an explosion in the main visitor center.  Marian jumped and spun around.  “What was that?”</p><p>                “Don’t worry, none of your precious little fluffballs were harmed.”</p><p>                “You did that?”</p><p>                He shrugged, a mischievous smile on his face.  “It was just so &lt;<em>boring.&gt;</em>  You can’t have a proper escape without something exploding.”</p><p>                Her eyes widened as smoke began to billow out of the windows.  “Is…Is anyone…?”</p><p>                “Dead?  No, I’d hate to kill any of the nice fox-torturing people,” he said sarcastically.  “Alright, let’s get these little fur coats home before someone starts shooting at them.” </p><p>                Marian felt the world shift, and she was suddenly in a different kind of forest.  Large trees went on seemingly forever, without a road or building in sight.  The ground was littered with fallen trees, leaves, and rocks, perfect for hiding small animals.  Foxes appeared all around her, looking momentarily stunned, but they recovered quickly and started to run off in all directions.  Within minutes, they were gone.</p><p>                “There.  Now they can be killed by coyotes and mountain lions; much more dignified,” Crowley said.</p><p>                Marian shot him a glare.</p><p>                He raised his eyebrows.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?  Quick, natural deaths over that torture pit?”</p><p>                She sighed.  “…Yes.”</p><p>                Crowley squeezed her shoulder.  “Some of them will make it.  Foxes are known for being clever, after all.”</p><p>                She glanced around at the trees: They looked too familiar, not like something she’d find in Japan.  “Where are we?”</p><p>                “Canada.  Just north of…Everywhere, really.  I don’t think there’s an official name for the place; it’s well out of the way of human interference.”</p><p>                He blinked them back to the fox farm, where confused staff members were busy radioing each other to figure out what had happened and why the fences were suddenly gone.  Crowley grinned and winked at Marian; a moment later, the rest of the visitor center exploded.</p><p>                People cowered reflexively and screamed, including Marian. </p><p>                “Crowley!” she hissed.</p><p>                “What?  No one was inside.”</p><p>                Flaming debris landed nearby.  Children cried.  Sirens sounded in the distance as firetrucks made their way to the compound. </p><p>                “And now, I think it’s time for us to move on…”</p><p>                She’d had enough of the blinking from place to place: her skin itched from demonic power and her head spun.  Before her brain could process her new surroundings, she lost her balance and pitched backwards.  She fell into Crowley, who was suddenly behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist to steady her. </p><p>                “It’s odd,” he said, not letting go of her, “porting has no ill effect on humans or angels, yet you look like you’ve just gotten off the Tilt-a-Whirl at the state fair.”</p><p>                “Feels like it,” Marian mumbled.  She took a few deep breaths, trying to feel less like she’d just been tossed around the inside of a clothes dryer. </p><p>                “Do you want to sit down?”</p><p>                She shook her head.  “I just need to walk it off, I think.”</p><p>                “Alright.”  Instead of letting go of her, though, Crowley’s arms tightened around her.  “Hmm.  I should do this more often,” he purred.  “It seems we both have an…Unusual effect on each other.”</p><p>                He released her and held his arm out for her to take, leading her out of the dark little corner he’d ported them into.  Marian squinted as she suddenly found herself surrounded by bright lights and flashing neon: They were in the center of Tokyo. </p><p>                Traffic inched along in the street, congested but unnaturally quiet compared to, say, New York.  The sidewalks were full of people as well, and there was some jostling, but it was &lt;<em>polite&gt;</em> jostling. </p><p>                “Why is everyone so quiet?” Marian whispered.</p><p>                “It’s Japan,” Crowley shrugged.  “Everyone colors inside the lines.”</p><p>                She looked closer at her fellow pedestrians: most had similar hairstyles, clothes and shoes.  She’d heard individuality wasn’t really a thing in Japan, but she hadn’t realized to what extent.  The only people who were dressed differently seemed to be the tourists: Tall, with either black or white skin, they stood out from the homogenous crowd. </p><p>                “Sounds boring.”</p><p>                “It can be, from the Western point of view.  But there’s much less crime, the streets are cleaner and safer…Everything has its trade-offs.”</p><p>                They wandered through the busiest retail districts, just looking at all the exotic things that people could buy.  There were high-high-end electronics and jewelry, square melons that cost as much as a sushi dinner, and plastic models of food—&lt;<em>lots&gt;</em> of plastic food.  There was an entire &lt;<em>district</em>,&gt; as it turned out, dedicated to making plastic food for restaurant displays: Every food shop, no matter how small, had a proud display of their wares immortalized in plastic.  The nicer shops had custom-made pieces, formed from molds of their actual food, and the people who made the fake food had as much training as the actual chefs. </p><p>                If luxury goods and fake food weren’t your bag (and there were also plenty of bags one could buy), there was always the pop culture phenomenon known as Hello Kitty.  She was a popular gal, with sections of stores and even entire stores dedicated to her and her friends.  For the high-rollers, there was a Swarovski crystal-encrusted figurine about the size of a guinea pig. </p><p>                Not everyone was dressed identically, as it turned out: clusters of teens passed them in groups, going against society with brightly-colored clothes and hair dyed pink or green.  As far as rebellious teens, however, they were…Well, they weren’t anything compared to America.  Their outfits were crazy, but they were all &lt;<em>identically&gt;</em> crazy, and when a group was just standing around talking, they all managed to adopt the same posture.  They were being different, together.  Marian admired their spirit, but thought they could benefit from a little MTV if they really wanted to embrace counter-culture. </p><p>                She was looking at a restaurant’s window display advertising corn on pizza when the screaming started.  &lt;<em>Corn?  Really?  They put corn on EVERYTHING here&gt;,</em> she thought.  Then: &lt;<em>Ooh.  Screaming.  Must find out why.&gt;</em></p><p>She looked up toward the source of the cries and found dozens and dozens of people running toward her.  Ah: This was familiar territory.  She began to stride purposefully upstream against the retreating crowd, but was stopped by a firm hand on her arm. </p><p>                “I just want to see what’s going on,” she said, throwing Crowley a pleading look. </p><p>                Crowley sighed.  There hadn’t been any gunshots, at least, and he could always heal whatever wounds she acquired.  Angels didn’t mess with humans, and he knew there were no demons in the area; maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let her have her little ‘hunter’ moment.  He nodded and pulled her off to the side.  “Sorry to do this to you again,” he said, and vanished the both of them.</p><p>                Marian’s stomach clenched as they reappeared right at the edge of a widening circle of people.  Not everyone had run: curiosity had gotten the better of many humans in the crowd, and they hovered around the scene, bodies tensed to run if the need arose. </p><p>                In the center of the circle was a middle-aged man, dressed just like all the other middle-aged men in Tokyo.  Marian couldn’t see his face from her position, but from behind he looked stiff and terrified.  In front of him and gradually fanning around him were five…Girls, if that’s what they were.  They looked like the antagonist of every Japanese horror film she’d ever seen: Long black hair, clothing soaked and torn, their skin turning blue and veiny with decay.  They were slightly translucent.  Water dripped from their bodies, puddling at their bare feet and slowly flowing into an open manhole. </p><p>                “<em>I know that man</em>,” someone whispered beside her.  “<em>Kaito Tanaka.  He was in the news a few years ago—they were investigating him over the deaths of his students.  They disappeared, one by one, and the bodies were found weeks later in the sewers.  Police said the girls had been raped and then had their throats slit and tossed into the sewer.  They didn’t have enough evidence to convict Tanaka-san, so they released him and he went back to teaching…”</em></p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “I guess he was guilty after all, poor bastard.”</p><p>                Marian looked around for any suitable ghost-fighting weaponry.  She hadn’t bothered to keep any salt or iron on her, because she had her angel blade; but that did precisely nil against ghosts. </p><p>                The demon noted her visual search of the environment.  “I wouldn’t worry about stopping these ones, darling.  They’re vengeful spirits; they’re not going to go after anyone except the man who killed them.”</p><p>                She continued to glace around the crowd.  “But—they’re ghosts.  And they’re going to kill him.  I should…”</p><p>                “Should you?  I know you have a thing about saving humans, but this human raped and killed at <em>least</em> five girls, not a one over 12 years old, and those are just the ones he dumped in &lt;<em>this&gt;</em> sewer.  You let him live, he continues to live life a free man.  Free to kill more kids…Or you could rethink your stance on what makes a monster a monster…”</p><p>                Marian’s brow knit together in thought.  She couldn’t take her eyes off of the creepy ghost children.  The girls were reaching out to touch him, and he was backing away, but they were all around him and he just wound up backing into one of them; he screamed at their touch, and turned to run.  She could see his face now, and it was getting uglier by the moment: He was starting to look like the ghosts, his veins turning blue and his skin paling, hair now drenched, and a dark red line appeared across his throat.  He screamed one last time, the kind of scream that goes straight to the basic reptilian part of the brain and says, &lt;<em>Run</em>.&gt;  And Tanaka-san collapsed to the ground, disappearing beneath the girls, and then disappeared altogether. </p><p>                The girls turned out toward the crowd, and the circle took a collective step back.  Marian glanced at Crowley nervously: was the demon wrong about them?  Were they all in danger?  But then there was a sort of collective sigh from the five, and they began to glow with a warm yellow light.  The sickly blue color faded from their skin, and they looked like they had before they died; then the light filled them, and grew brighter until they vanished entirely. </p><p>                “What the hell was that?”</p><p>                “Vengeful Japanese yokai,” Crowley said with a grin.  “Once they’ve fulfilled their ‘mission,’ they can be at peace.  Much more civilized than your psychotic American counterparts, really.”</p><p>                The adrenaline she’d felt when she’d heard the first scream was starting to wear off now that no one seemed to be in immediate danger.  “So they’re really…They’re gone, like, forever?  Not just back to the sewer or wherever?”</p><p>                “Really gone.”  He grabbed her arm as she swayed on her feet, holding her in place as the crowd began to disperse around them.  “Shall we call it a day, angel?  I have to get you back home; can’t stay away from work forever.”</p><p>                She was still staring at the spot where the girls had been.  “Hmm?  Oh.  Right.”  She finally looked away from the manhole, which a few men were sealing up again.  “Home sounds great.”</p><p>                With one last sickening lurch, she was back in her room.  Crowley sat her down before she could fall down, perching beside her on the edge of the bed and rubbing her back as she breathed through the nausea.  Her skin itched, but it was like it itched from the inside out. </p><p>                “You alright?”</p><p>                She nodded.  “Just need a second.”  Even her <em>teeth</em> itched.  Why was she so sensitive to demonic energy? </p><p>                He kissed the top of her head.  “I need to check on a couple of things in Hell.  I won’t be gone more than an hour.” </p><p> </p><p>                When Crowley returned, Marian was asleep at the foot of her bed, a book about Japanese folklore still in her hand.  The demon removed the book, setting it aside on her dresser, and sat down next to her, smoothing her hair out of her face. </p><p>                Marian woke with a start, jerking backwards.  When she that it was only Crowley, though, she relaxed.  “Hey,” she said with a sleepy yawn.  “How’s Hell?”</p><p>                “Totally incompetent, as always.  They’re lucky I’m there to sort things out.”  He motioned for her to move back to the head of the bed, standing up and moving to sit beside her again.  With a flick of his wrist, the TV turned on.  “Thank Hell for mindless entertainment.” </p><p>                He put his arm around her shoulders, and she let gravity pull her against him, resting her head just beneath his shoulder.  <em>Good Morning Vietnam</em> had just started on whatever channel Crowley had flipped to.</p><p>                “Robin Williams is fantastic,” Marian said.</p><p>                Crowley sighed.  “He is, isn’t he?  I almost had him, you know.  I really did try…But he managed to make it on his own.  I love his work, but it still hurts that he could have been one of mine…”</p><p>                “I’m glad you didn’t get him.  Means he’ll be around for more than ten years.”</p><p>                The demon smiled.  “I could always give him an extension.”</p><p>                “What?  That’s a thing?”</p><p>                “For…Extraordinary people, it can be.  Some souls do more for Hell on Earth than they ever would in Hell.  Hitler, for example, and Stalin.  Williams certainly isn’t promoting genocide, but he <em>is</em> fun to watch.”</p><p>                They fell silent for a while, just watching the movie.  It was nice to just…Un-focus on the world after such a wild day.  When the commercial break started, though, Crowley’s focus turned back onto the angel. </p><p>                “You enjoyed Japan, I hope?”</p><p>                She nodded against his chest.  “It was amazing.  Thank you.”</p><p>                He kissed the top of her head.  “Never thought you’d be jailbreaking foxes as a hunter, did you?  It’s given me some ideas for our next date, though.  Sabotaging a whaling ship, perhaps, or liberating a fur farm?”</p><p>                Marian laughed.  “I’m really not a violent person.  Toward…Toward humans, I mean.”</p><p>                “Really.  So if I showed you a room full of little rabbits, just like the ones from the island, that were about to be skinned alive, you wouldn’t want to stop it?”</p><p>                She bristled.  “Well—”</p><p>                “If you found the leaders of a dog-fighting operation, you wouldn’t want to take them out like a nest of vampires?”</p><p>                “I would fucking kill them,” she muttered.</p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “That’s my girl.”  He shifted position slightly and turned toward her, sliding his arm under her knees to scoop her up and deposit her in front of him, between his legs.  Marian tensed, unsure what he was up to but fairly certain it wasn’t something she was going to like. </p><p>                She used to cuddle like this with her one long-term boyfriend (who’d been killed in a hunt):  Her back against his chest, head resting in the crook of his shoulder, it gave her boyfriend easy access to grope her breasts, finger her, and grind against her ass all at the same time.  Hopefully Crowley wasn’t planning on doing any of those things.</p><p>                Crowley ran his hands up her sides to her shoulders, massaging them for a moment before sliding all the way down to her hips.  She held her breath, muscles stiff.  He was being sensual without being, for lack of a better word, inappropriate: When she realized he was avoiding the zones her boyfriend had focused on, she started to breathe again, but she couldn’t relax.  She kept waiting for his hands to stray where they didn’t belong…</p><p>                He moved back up to her arms, rubbing little circles with his thumbs as his hands slid down to her wrists.  He then crossed her own arms over her ribs and overlapped them with his, covering her hands with his own and continuing to rub the pads of his thumbs into the back of her hands.  Since his hands were no longer wandering, Marian relaxed a little, letting the demon’s radiating heat soak into her tense muscles.  It did feel nice to be held, even if Crowley was the one holding her. </p><p>                Trying to get more comfortable, she twisted a little to one side, pulling her knees up as far as she could and letting her legs fall against the demon’s thigh.  When he felt her settle against him, finally giving in, he hummed happily and held her tighter. </p><p>                “My little angel,” he sighed, kissing the top of her head.  He continued to massage her hands and forearms when the ad break ended, and with every minute that passed she melted against him a little more.</p><p>                By the time the next commercial break came on, Marian was feeling looser.  Her skin felt hot and tingly wherever he touched her, but not in a bad way…And that in itself was bad.  Was she…Was she really enjoying this?  &lt;<em>You do not like this&gt;, </em>she chided herself.  &lt;<em>You are not attracted to him.</em>  <em>If you give him ANY indication that you’re into him, he’ll jump you like a frat boy.&gt;  </em>And though she might not mind the snuggling, she wasn’t attracted to him.  She certainly wasn’t “bonded” to him like Agnes had said in her prophecy. </p><p>                She yawned and turned her head into his chest a little more.  “I have a…Weird question.”</p><p>                “Hmm?”</p><p>                “Why do you snuggle with me?  It just doesn’t seem very…Demonic.”  She yawned again.  “I mean, I get you just wanted to torture me at first, but then I got used to it, and…You still do it…”</p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “I guess I got used to it, too.”  He brought one hand up to run through her hair, keeping his other arm wrapped around her.  “You are…Addictive, darling.  It must be your angelic heritage, because I’ve never felt anything like it from another human.  You radiate this positive, loving energy.  At first it was just painful to be around, but now I can’t get enough of it.”</p><p>                Marian was feeling less relaxed.  She wasn’t sure that she wanted to radiate a positive, loving energy.  Especially not to him.</p><p>                “It’s stronger when you’re with your friends.  And surprisingly even more so when you’re surrounded by animals.  You’d never met one of those foxes before in your life, but I could feel that you loved them, that it would physically <em>pain</em> you not to help them.  I felt your empathy for them, and your compassion, and I <em>envied </em>them for it.”  He chuckled, but there was a bitterness behind it.  “I was human once; I had a mother.  I even had a wife and a son.  None of them cared for me with even a <em>fraction</em> of the love you felt for those animals.  To be fair, I was a rotten human being…A terrible husband and an even worse father.  Maybe if my mother hadn’t been such an evil bitch, I would have turned out better…” </p><p>                Crowley realized he was sharing things he hadn’t meant to share, and tried to shift back to his original topic.</p><p>                “The point is.  I think there was a point.  Ah.  Yes.  When I hold you, there’s this moment when you let yourself relax and you just melt into me; and I like to imagine that some of that love radiating from you is meant for me.”</p><p>                Marian felt her face flush.  “Are you going to start possessing animals, so I’ll like you more?”</p><p>                Crowley laughed.  “Are you admitting that you like me a little?”</p><p>                Her eyes widened.  “…Alright, fine, you aren’t horrible.  Aside from threatening to kill all my friends and family and an entire town of people, you’ve been…Thoughtful, and considerate, and…And kind of sweet.”  Even though she couldn’t see his face, she could <em>feel</em> him smiling victoriously.  “Can’t you get your ‘demon’ card revoked for something like that?” she joked.</p><p>                “Nah, no take-backs in Hell.  I can be sickeningly sweet and they’ll still let me torture souls on Tuesdays.”  He snapped his fingers and the blankets drew themselves up to her shoulders.  “It’s your fault I’m an emotional sap anyway.  I ought to be disemboweling underperformers, but here I am cuddling—&lt;<em>cuddling&gt;</em>—with an angel reject.”</p><p>                Marian smiled and closed her eyes.  It was too bad that he wanted to help Lucifer destroy the world, because overall he wasn’t so bad, for a demon.</p><p> </p><p>                Crowley had gone back to work by the time Marian woke up.  She went through her day on autopilot: Cook, eat, clean up, work out, look through the papers.  But she wasn’t really hungry, and it was hard to focus on the news.  She’d been doing alright when she could focus on Crowley, but now that she was alone her mind kept straying back to her abduction.  Her nervous habit of chewing on her lip turned into biting her lip hard enough to bleed, the pain keeping her grounded in the present.   </p><p>                Everything on TV was focused on Christmas, from the news to the ads, and there were specials playing all the time.  It was just another reminder of the life she’d given up.  Though her life as a hunter took her all around the country (and the world), she always made it a point to come home for the holidays.  From Thanksgiving to New Year’s, she wouldn’t stray farther than a few hours from home, and her might-as-well-be-a-sister Erica did the same.  Since most of Erica’s family was deceased (hence why she became a hunter), Marian had adopted her into her own family’s traditions, and she’d been absorbed into the fold without question as “Marian’s friend from college who doesn’t have a place to go for the holidays.”  They knew her parents and siblings had passed (in a house fire, though the culprits were never mentioned), and that her extended family was either dead/dying/international.  When Erica officially started dating David, David was absorbed as well.  Marian hoped they would both continue to visit her family without her.</p><p>                Her local paper had ads for the mall’s Winter Village, where kids could meet Santa (she and Erica had volunteered as elves one year, going undercover when kids started vanishing—turned out Santa was less of a jolly old elf and more of a child-munching monster), and there was a model train display that reminded her of her human grandfather.  There were pictures of the store displays downtown, which Marian always loved to look at in person.  The classifieds listed all the upcoming craft fairs; there was an announcement about the annual Holiday Lights Parade; and a little blurb about Christmas pageants, concerts, and food drives.  They were all things she would have loved to go to with her friends and family.  They were <em>not</em> the sort of thing she would ever ask Crowley to take her to: Demons and Christmas just…Did not go together. </p><p>                Crowley was gone for a few days, which didn’t help things.  She should be thankful she didn’t have to deal with him, she decided, but it was worse not having him there.  The thoughts she had right now were not the kind she wanted to be left alone with.  And without his demon mojo blocking her ability to dream, the nightmares wouldn’t go away.  She tried not sleeping, but she was so depressed that all she wanted to do was sleep: She became a zombie, dragging herself aimlessly from room to room.  Her brain cycled through an endless depressive loop of demons hurting her, always starting with flashbacks of her abduction and moving into arguments with herself:</p><p>                &lt;Crowley won’t hurt you like that.&gt;</p><p>                &lt;Why not?  He owns you.  He literally owns you.  Like a chair.  You are on the same level as a chair to him.  You think he wouldn’t break a chair?&gt;</p><p>                She pictured him smashing a chair into toothpicks by throwing it into a wall.  It wouldn’t even take any effort for a demon. </p><p>                &lt;Maybe I should just…Give up.  Quit.  Yes, ending my life would void my contract, and 6000 people including my friends and family would die…But at least I wouldn’t be alive to see it.&gt;</p><p>                &lt;Although, if he owns my soul, won’t he just torture me in Hell when I die?&gt;</p><p>                &lt;Maybe.  But at least all this will be over.&gt;</p><p> </p><p>                She sat down at Crowley’s desk and shuffled through the newspapers she hadn’t read yet.  She wasn’t even reading whole sentences anymore, just looking for key words, and even those were starting to blur together.  She picked up a push-pin and stabbed herself in the thigh, the pain keeping her grounded and awake.  If she could just focus on the words, she would be okay.  Just don’t think about her family, or Lester, or Crowley.  Don’t think about being held down with demonic power and violated.  Don’t think about how much better your life was before, when you were actually &lt;hunting&gt; demons and killing monsters.  Think about what’s going on in…Let’s see…Salt Lake City.  Nothing out of the ordinary, of course.  She stabbed herself with the push-pin again. </p><p>                Eventually, Marian did fall asleep, and when she woke up Crowley was setting her down on her bed.  He laid down next to her and kissed her forehead, then her cheek. </p><p>                Then his mouth was covering hers.</p><p>                Marian gasped in surprise and tried to back away from him, but he rolled on top of her, hands planted on the mattress to either side of her head, one leg between her thighs.  He kissed her hard, hard enough to make her lip start to bleed again, and he lapped up her blood hungrily.  Again, she tried to wriggle away from him, but this time he leaned more of his weight onto her, pinning her in place and knocking the breath out of her.  He wedged his other leg between hers, spreading her legs apart, and suddenly she was naked.  Crowley released her lips and began nibbling his way down her neck.</p><p>                “Crowley—” Marian pleaded.</p><p>                “Shh.  I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”  He ground his hips against her.  “I’m going to take my time with you, make sure you enjoy yourself.  Then you’ll love me.”</p><p>                “What?!  That’s not how it works.  Please, don’t—”</p><p>                He pinched her nipple and she let out a little squeak of pain.  Then his hand traveled down between her legs.  She tried to clamp her thighs together, but Crowley just used his own legs to spread them further apart.  Then he bit her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>                Marian woke when someone grabbed her shoulder.  Still reacting to her dream world, she tried to push away, and suddenly found that she could.  She kicked out and the large, sturdy desk chair she’d been sitting in toppled backward, crashing to the floor.  Disoriented, she rolled out of the chair and tried to stand up, but her head was still spinning, and she sank back to the floor.</p><p>                Crowley grabbed her shoulder again.  “Hey.  You’re alright.  You’re safe.”</p><p>                She looked up at him, still confused.  They were in her bed; why were they in his office now?  Was…Was that just a dream?  She was wearing clothes now, she realized.  She was wearing clothes, and she was drenched in sweat, and her lip was bleeding, and there was dried blood on her jeans from all the times she’d jabbed a tack through her skin.  Crowley saw all of it.</p><p>                “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.”  He scooped her up in his arms and ported them to her room. </p><p>                He started to set her down on the bed, and Marian panicked.  She shook her head, ‘no,’ but she couldn’t even form coherent words, just a low whine.  She wrapped her arms around Crowley’s neck so that he couldn’t set her down, and she started to shake.</p><p>                “What on Earth?” Crowley muttered, thoroughly perplexed.  “Look, I have to set you down.”  He used his power to remove her arms from his neck, depositing the quivering mass of fallen angel at last.  “I’ve only been gone four days.  What happened?” </p><p>                She shook her head.  She didn’t want to talk about it.  She especially didn’t want to talk about the nightmare she’d just had, that had seemed so real. </p><p>                “Angel,” he said, a warning tone in his voice.  He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. </p><p>                She tried to look anywhere but at him.  “Dreams,” she said.</p><p>                Crowley’s eyes narrowed.  “About Lester?”</p><p>                She looked to the side.  Some of them had been about him, yes.  She nodded.</p><p>                “About me?” Crowley prompted.</p><p>                She hesitated.  Then nodded.</p><p>                &lt;He really has mucked things up for me,&gt; Crowley thought sourly.  &lt;I ought to find a way to drag him out of the Empty just so I can torture and kill him again.&gt;  Aloud, he said: “Alright, I’ll stop you from dreaming for a little while longer.” </p><p>                He touched her forehead and she felt a sharp tingle of power move through her head and down the back of her neck.  It made her feel sleepy, and she wondered if he was sedating her as well, or if she was just that tired.  She sagged as he pulled his hand away and he caught her shoulder, moving her so that her head hit her pillow as she slumped onto her side.  He touched her bloody, chewed-up lip, healing it, then licked the blood off his finger.  With a flick of his wrist, her pants disappeared, and she was suddenly very much awake.  He grabbed her thigh and she bit her newly healed lip, but he just healed the little pushpin stab holes in her skin and mojoed her pajama pants onto her.  Then he drew a blanket over her and slid in beside her, his regular suit replaced with black silk pajamas. </p><p>                “What happens if I die?” Marian asked, and immediately regretted it.</p><p>                Crowley paused.  “You mean, if you kill yourself?” he clarified.</p><p>                “I—Never mind, it was a stupid question—”</p><p>                “Well,” he said, hooking his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, “You would be breaking your contract, so I would have to kill your family and all those other people.  I doubt the angels would let you into Heaven, which means your soul goes to Hell.  Assuming I find you first, I would resurrect you and you’d be right back where you started, except that now everyone you know would be dead.  If I’m not the first demon to find you, well…I think you know how that goes.”</p><p>                Marian hid her face in his chest.  He held her tighter.</p><p>                “Am I really that bad, that you would rather end your life than be with me?  I know you had a bit of a setback with the other demon, but you must understand by now that we’re different.  There aren’t many demons like me.  There aren’t &lt;any&gt; demons like me, really.”</p><p>                She shook her head.  “I know you’re different.  But you’re still a demon.  And you still want…What Agnes said.”</p><p>                He ran a hand through her hair.  “I want you to be happy.”</p><p>                “It’s kinda hard to be happy when someone owns you.”</p><p>                Crowley hadn’t thought about it like that before.  Human emotions were so damn complicated; why did they have them at all?  Then again, feeling what Marian felt—how she loved her friends, even those dumb animals—he wanted to feel that for himself, more than anything.  Maybe it was worth it, dealing with all the other crappy feelings, if people could feel loved?  Or maybe it was all a bunch of crap, because no one had ever shown &lt;him&gt; any love. </p><p>                But he would get Marian to love him.  It didn’t matter how long it took.  He would just keep doing nice things for her, and showing her that he cared about her.  “I can’t let you go, but maybe I can improve your mood.”</p><p>                &lt;Oh fuck, don’t be like the dreams,&gt; Marian thought.  But Crowley didn’t do anything like his nightmare counterpart.  He handed her a phone.</p><p>                “Why don’t you give your parents a call.  Tell them you’ll be home for a visit. I’m sure they’d like to see you at Christmas.”</p><p>                Marian’s heart leapt into her throat.  <em>Home.  </em>Then she remembered what had happened the last time Crowley left her on her own, and she shivered.  She shook her head, swallowing hard.  “I…I don’t…”</p><p>                “I won’t leave you alone this time.  Demons can be invisible, just like angels; remember?  I’ll be right with you.  And I’ve got another trick up my sleeve, so no one else can find you.”  He gestured to the phone, and it began to dial.</p><p>                She immediately burst into tears at the sound of her mother’s voice.  It took her a while to compose herself, but she finally got the message across to them that Crowley was letting her come home to visit.  Her mother was overjoyed, but her father had his concerns:</p><p>                “Erica told us you were attacked by another demon at the funeral.  If demons show up at our Christmas party, we’re going to be even less use than your friends.”</p><p>                “I know.  I know.  Crowley will be there, just…You won’t be able to see him.  He’ll be watching for threats.”</p><p>                “He’ll be <em>invisible?</em>” her mother snapped.  “Oh, heck no!  If that pompous asshole is going to be lurking about, I want him where I can see him!  You tell him—”</p><p>                “Tell him he’s welcome as a guest,” her father interrupted, “A visible, &lt;<em>human&gt;</em> guest.  We’ll tell everyone he’s your—your b—b—”</p><p>                “Boyfriend?” Marian prompted.</p><p>                “Yes.  That.”  He sounded less than thrilled.  “Do you think he’d be alright with that?  He wouldn’t…Cause any trouble, would he?”</p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”</p><p>                There were two audible gasps on the other end of the line.  “He’s been listening this whole time?!”</p><p>                “Yeah, Mom, he’s right next to me.”</p><p>                Her mother growled.  “Hmph.  He’s not going to possess anyone this time, is he?  You know your grandfather has that heart condition—”</p><p>                “No, it’s—it’ll be fine.  He passes as human all the time; it’s not all torture and entrails.”</p><p>                There was a sharp intake of breath.</p><p>                “…That was a joke, Mom.  I was trying to make a joke…”  Marian sighed.  “Look, I really want to see you guys, so just…Behave yourselves, and Crowley will behave <em>himself</em>.  And don’t do what I know you’re going to do and try to make devil’s traps and holy water, because you’ll do it wrong anyway.”</p><p>                “How did you know we’ve been researching—”</p><p>                “Because you were attacked by demons, so of course you’re going to look up that stuff.  Do me a favor, though, and tell Erica we’re coming so she doesn’t freak out when she sees us.”</p><p>                “Do we need to take the cross down?”</p><p>                “The—What?  No, that’s…That doesn’t affect demons.”</p><p>                “Alright, just making sure.  I’d hate to offend our &lt;<em>honored guest&gt;.</em>”</p><p>                “<em>Mom…</em>”</p><p>                Crowley giggled.  “This is going to be fun.”</p><p>                She said goodbye to her parents and hung up.  “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”</p><p>                “Only if your hunter friends can’t behave themselves.”  He wrapped his arm around her again and kissed her cheek.  Calling her parents had taken her mind off of less pleasant things, and she seemed to be back in a relatively good mood.  She would get to see her family soon, and this time, no half-rate demon was going to ruin things.  He would make sure of that.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22: Home for the Holidays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marian goes home for Christmas.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day, Marian second- and third- guessed her decision to visit her family with Crowley, imagining all the ways things could go wrong.  She had no doubt that things were going to be unpleasant between the demon and her parents, seeing as how their initial introduction had been…Well, an aggressive invasion of the town and abduction of their daughter.  Hopefully Erica and David would help her keep the peace, as opposed to fanning the flames.  Crowley, of course, didn’t seem at all concerned: he was looking forward to it, as far as she could tell, like it was going to be the most entertainment he’d have all year. </p><p>                “I promise you I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said as she fought back her fourth panic attack of the day.  “I’m not going to hurt your family or scar anyone else for life.”</p><p>                “It’s not just &lt;<em>your&gt;</em> behavior I’m worried about.”</p><p>                “Your parents will be fine.  And Abercrombie and Fitch know to behave themselves.”  He motioned for her to sit down on the edge of the bed.  “Today is for you, love; I’m not going to ruin it for you.” </p><p>                Marian snapped to attention as he drew a small knife from his pocket. </p><p>                “I told you I’d found a way to keep you hidden from other demons,” he explained, sitting down beside her.  “It’s an old angel trick, and it wasn’t easy to find, but it’s easy enough to do.  All you need is two sigils carved into your skin—one on your back, and one on your chest—and the angelic part of you, the little smidge of grace, will be virtually undetectable.  You’ll be just another human as far as anything supernatural is concerned.”</p><p>                Her eyes stayed locked on the knife.  Carved into her skin…Yeah, that wasn’t too bad.  She’d had worse, for sure, like having her arms and legs snapped like raw spaghetti. </p><p>                “Um.  Right.  Okay.”  Wait—Crowley was used to &lt;<em>torturing&gt; </em>people with knives.  Did she really want him doing this? </p><p>                “Great.  Shirt off; I’ll start on your back.”</p><p>                Marian blinked.  “What?”</p><p>                “I need skin, angel,” Crowley smirked.  “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”</p><p>                She bit her lip, feeling her face turn bright red.  She quickly pulled her shirt off and flopped onto her stomach without looking at him.  He smoothed his hand across her back in the space between her shoulder blades and bra strap. </p><p>                “Ready?”</p><p>                She nodded, muscles tensing in anticipation.  The blade bit through her skin and she gritted her teeth.  Normally when someone was stabbing her, she was full of adrenaline in the middle of a fight and she wouldn’t feel it until later.  But this…All she could <em>do</em> was feel it.  The cut was shallow, which somehow made it worse.</p><p>                Crowley was surprisingly gentle, though.  He continued to rub her back with his free hand as he worked, his knifework steady and precise.  Marian could even tell what symbol he was drawing. </p><p>                When he was finished, he wiped away the blood and bandaged the area.  “Turn,” he said, nudging her shoulder. </p><p>                She’d been dreading this part.  Even with her bra on, she still felt exposed.  Still, she had to do what he said, so she flipped onto her back, avoiding eye contact.  Crowley felt along her sternum, feeling for a good starting point.  &lt;<em>Oh shit, this side’s going to be worse&gt;</em>, Marian thought.</p><p>                “Ready?”</p><p>                She nodded, turning her head away.  She tried to hold still, but her skin was more sensitive on her chest than on her back.  She tried to breathe through her stomach to stop her chest from moving, but she still jerked when the knife slid over bone.  Crowley pressed down on her shoulder to keep her still, and she bit her lip so hard it started to bleed.</p><p>                He worked quickly, though, and soon he was smoothing a bandage over his artwork.  Marian breathed a sigh of relief and slipped her shirt back on. </p><p>                “Did it work?”</p><p>                Crowley stepped back and eyed her critically.  “Yes.  You look perfectly human; not a touch of angel to you.  You’ll have any demon fooled,” he said with a victorious grin. </p><p> </p><p>                Instead of porting directly to her parents’ house, they arrived several blocks away and got into a vintage black Bentley Continental.  Crowley decided it would be more ‘human’ of them to arrive in a car instead of blinking into existence.</p><p>                “I didn’t know you had a car,” Marian said.</p><p>                “It’s borrowed,” Crowley replied. </p><p>                “Does that mean ‘stolen’?”</p><p>                “Hah.  Not in this case.  It belongs to an old…Friend.  Well.  Good acquaintance, I suppose.  Demons don’t have the luxury of friends.”</p><p>                “Human?”</p><p>                “Might as well be.  He’s gone completely native—that’s what they get, posting someone up here 24/7.”  He motioned for Marian to get in on the left-hand side.  “It’s British,” he explained, sliding behind the wheel on the right. </p><p>                She was going to ask how his demon friend got his car from Britain to America, but decided it was best not to ask--one of those little demonic ‘miracles,’ she supposed. </p><p>                After a very short drive, they pulled up to her parents’ house.  To her surprise, Erica was waiting for her outside, leaning against a tree, hands shoved into her coat pockets, shoulders hunched up in the cold.  When Marian approached, she threw her arms around her in a bear hug. </p><p>                “Hey!  Everything okay?”</p><p>                “Yeah, it’s fine, we just need to talk before you go inside,” Erica said hurriedly.  “I told David to keep them all entertained.”  She glanced back at Crowley and shot him what she hoped was her most withering glare; he just smiled back at her.  “Anyway,” she continued, turning her attention back to Marian, “After this asshole took you, your parents were…Well, ‘upset’ doesn’t really cover it.  They were completely freaked, but they couldn’t tell everyone you’d been abducted by a demon.”</p><p>                “Right.  Right.” She felt a pang of guilt at making her parents suffer so much, but at least they were alive this way.</p><p>                “So they said you’d been abducted on one of your mission trips and had probably either been killed or sold as a sex slave.”</p><p>                If she’d had a drink, she would have spat it out.  “My &lt;<em>parents&gt;</em> said that?”</p><p>                “…They didn’t handle it well, Marian.  I didn’t want to say anything before, but…Well, now you’re back from the dead, so you might get some…Odd…Questions, and I didn’t want them to take you by surprise…”</p><p>                She sighed, leaning her head on her friend’s shoulder.  “Okay.  I was kidnapped on a mission trip to—where was I supposed to be?”</p><p>                “Er…The Congo, I believe.”</p><p>                “Okay.  They could’ve just given me Ebola,” she grumbled.  But she was already thinking up answers to questions in her head; it was really no different than what she always did with her family: Pretend she wasn’t a hunter, or a fallen angel; that she had a semi-normal life, and wasn’t routinely shot at, bitten, stabbed, and hexed as she ran around trying to save people.  Now she just had to convince them that, instead of making a deal with a demon in exchange for the lives of her friends, family, and 6000 other people, she’d been abducted by human traffickers.  And then…Rescued?  Escaped? </p><p>                The front door opened and she felt a blast of warm air. </p><p>                “Marian!” her mother cried.</p><p>                “Mom!” </p><p>                She ran the rest of the way and bounded up the stairs, nearly knocking her mother over in her enthusiasm as she wrapped her arms around her.  Both women burst into tears; Marian recovered quickly, knowing she needed to put on a strong façade for her family, but her mother was weeping openly.  &lt;<em>Shit.&gt;</em></p><p>                “It’s okay, Mom.  Erica’s told you about hunting, right?”</p><p>                Her mother sniffled and nodded, maintaining a vice-like grip around her daughter. </p><p>                “So you know my entire adult life has basically been running into danger.”</p><p>                “But I didn’t <em>know</em> that <em>then</em>,” she sobbed.  “Now I &lt;<em>know&gt;,</em> and I can’t—I can’t—”</p><p>                “Hey, no, it’s okay!  I’m safer with Crowley than I ever was as a hunter.”  She bit her lip to stop herself from mentioning the encounter with the &lt;<em>other&gt;</em> demon.  ‘<em>I only got raped once’</em> wasn’t exactly going to help her mom feel better at this point.</p><p>                She looked up, seemingly noticing the demon for the first time, and her body went rigid.  She swept her a hand across her face, wiping away her tears, and pursed her lips.  “&lt;<em>Him.&gt;</em>”</p><p>                “<em>Mom.</em>  You agreed—”</p><p>                “I know, I know!  It’s just…Last time I saw him, I was—I was possessed, and I couldn’t &lt;<em>do&gt;</em> anything; but now I just want to rip his stupid demon head off!”</p><p>                “&lt;<em>Mom</em>.&gt;  No one is going to rip anyone’s head off.  <em>No one</em> is going to attack him.  You know the deal.”</p><p>                Her mother sighed.  “Yes.  I know the deal.”  Lowering her voice, she growled: “And I’d like to tell him where he can shove it!”</p><p>                “Yes, yes, alright.  Can we come inside now?  It’s cold!”</p><p>                As they were finally ushered in, Marian shot her friend a look that said &lt;<em>help!&gt;</em>  Erica nodded and grabbed her mom before she could start anything with Crowley, steering her back into the crowd of relatives that were gathered around to greet their back-from-the-dead girl.</p><p>                Her father hugged her and kissed her cheek, eyeing the demon but keeping his mouth shut regarding how he felt about current matters.  He took Marian just out of what he thought was the demon’s earshot.  “Love you, Pumpkin,” he said.  “And don’t worry, Erica and David helped me clean up all the traps and salt your mom put out before everyone got here.”</p><p>                “She—”</p><p>                “I know, she’ll get us all killed.  She doesn’t care about getting <em>herself</em> killed, as long as you’re safe.”</p><p>                “Dad, it’s over 6000 people—”</p><p>                “I know; and that’s why we took everything down.  She’s just being a fierce momma bear, you know that.  Doesn’t like the thought of anyone hurting her baby.”</p><p>                Marian rolled her eyes.  “I’m <em>fine.</em>  This was a terrible idea—I shouldn’t have come—”</p><p>                “No, don’t say that.  We’re so happy to see you again, Marian.  We—we didn’t think we’d ever…”  He cleared his throat.  “Anyway.  Come say hi to everyone.”</p><p>                She glanced back at Crowley with concern, but he just smiled and winked at her.  She let her father guide her into the kitchen, where she was instantly surrounded by aunts, uncles, and cousins.  A few small children ran around at thigh-level, oblivious to the dramatics around them.</p><p>                “Welcome home!”</p><p>                “So glad you’re back!”</p><p>                “We were praying you’d come home safely!”</p><p>                “How have you been?”</p><p>                “Let me get you a drink?”</p><p>                “Your gentleman friend sure is handsome.”</p><p>                Marian started to feel overwhelmed by all the well-wishes and hugs: she hadn’t had this much human interaction in a while.  Thankfully Erica appeared beside her, having put David in charge of her mother, and provided much-needed moral support.  Her friend, along with a mug of her mom’s homemade hot chocolate, helped her to relax enough to remember some of what she was supposed to be telling people.  She and Crowley had come up with a simple backstory ahead of time; now all she had to do was add the part where she magically escaped human traffickers.  Hopefully no one would bring that up. </p><p>                She almost dropped her drink when she saw Crowley chatting up her grandmother over by the oven.  He looked totally at ease, holding a glass of…Well, it must be whiskey, but she was pretty sure no one had brought any.  Her grandmother was smiling and laughing, oblivious to the fact that the charming man in front of her was a high-level demon.  Marian slowly made her way over to them, fielding questions about her current life as she moved.</p><p>                “So what are you up to now?  Are you working?”</p><p>                “Yes, I’m working entry-level at a sales company.  Just part time, mostly research.”</p><p>                “How did you two meet?”</p><p>                “At work.”</p><p>                “How are you holding up, dear?”</p><p>                “I’m fine, thank you.”</p><p>                “Has it been hard, making the adjustment back to a normal life?”</p><p>                She snorted.  &lt;<em>Normal.  Right&gt;.</em>  “Well, I—I have good days and bad ones,” she said, because it felt like the most truthful response. </p><p>                Finally, she reached Crowley.  Her grandmother gave her a hug, patting her back fondly.  “I like this one.  You should keep him around.”</p><p>                Marian forced a smile and a small laugh.  “Heh.  Thanks.”</p><p>                “Everyone to the table!” her mother called with forced cheer.  “Dinner’s almost ready!”</p><p>                The group made its way to the dining room, and Marian stayed back to help her mother bring the food out.  Erica helped as well.</p><p>                “So far so good,” her friend said once the three of them were alone.</p><p>                Her mother glared at the baked ham that was now waiting to be carved.  Her father had offered to cut it for them, but she had insisted, wrenching the knife out of his hand.  She sliced into it like it had offended her personally.  “Yes.  Good.  Wonderful.”</p><p>                “I don’t expect you to understand, Mom—”</p><p>                “Understand?!  Oh, I understand!  A <em>demon</em> took my &lt;<em>baby&gt;</em> because—because she was sent to me by angels—or you <em>were</em> an angel in a past life, I guess I don’t &lt;<em>completely&gt;</em> understand—and he has you at his mercy, to do whatever he wants with you!”  She took a few deep, angry breaths.  “What &lt;<em>does&gt;</em> he want with you, Marian?  What’s he been doing to you all this time?  No, don’t tell me—I don’t want to think about it.  But I need to know!  I can’t stop thinking about what &lt;<em>horrible&gt;</em> things he must—”</p><p>                “Mom!” </p><p>                Marian took the knife from her mom before she could completely destroy the ham, carving the rest of it herself and trying to salvage the shreds she’d made. </p><p>                “Yes, he possessed you and the entire town, and I made a deal with him to do whatever he wants.  But I’m <em>okay</em>.  He’s not hurting me.”</p><p>                Tears blossomed in her mother’s eyes.  “I felt you flinch when I hugged you earlier.  I felt the bandages, Marian.  You don’t have to defend him to me; you don’t have to pretend things are better than they are.  I can handle the truth.”</p><p>                &lt;<em>Like Hell you can.&gt;</em>  She sighed.  “It’s an Enochian sigil; it had to be cut into my skin.  It keeps other demons from sensing my gr—from being able to find me.”</p><p>                “Why are all these demons so interested in you, though?  What do they want?”</p><p>                “Um…”  People were going to wonder why they weren’t coming out with the food.  Well, what’s the worst that could happen?  “The demons think they can use me to create a weapon for Lucifer—it’s a half-angel, half-demon, called the Abomination.”</p><p>                “And how would you create a—”  Realization dawned in her mother’s eyes.  “Ohmygod!  He wants to impregnate you?!”  She burst into tears again, flinging her arms around her daughter.  “I knew it!  I knew he would r…r…r…”</p><p>                “Rape her?” Erica supplied, who was, frankly, done with the woman’s hysterics. </p><p>                Her mother all but collapsed against her, sobbing.  Marian felt her face turn bright pink.  “It’s not like that, Mom; calm down.  He hasn’t r…Hurt me.  Come on; we need to get out there before people start coming to look for us.”</p><p>                Erica helped her get her mom back on her feet, and Marian found a paper bag for her to breathe into.  It was awful seeing her mother break down like this: again, she wondered if she should have stayed away.  She and Erica brought the food out to the long table, and her mother joined them, looking a little ragged around the edges; she forced a smile for her family, dropping it when she laid eyes on the demon. </p><p>                Marian slid into her seat next to Crowley, breathing a sigh of relief that no more dramatics could happen for the duration of dinner.  He squeezed her hand under the table.</p><p>                “Everything alright?”</p><p>                “My mom’s just being…Dramatic.  This is why I never brought up the whole ‘hunting’ thing; she would have flipped.”</p><p>                Erica sat down across from her.  “I could drug her, if you’d like.  Just something to take the edge off.”</p><p>                Marian smiled.  “Not a bad idea.  We could at least try to get her drunk.”</p><p>                Dinner conversation was kept light, and Marian was able to steer most of it away from her own life to focus on the lives of her relatives.  One cousin had just completed his fourth Iron Man competition; another had landed a job as a chef in New York City.  An uncle was retiring this year; a cousin was turning 3 in January.  Crowley could talk to anyone about anything, which she supposed was part of being a good salesman.  He talked football with her uncles; he knew about fitness, cooking, and everything else that was discussed.  He really became animated, though, when asked about his relationship with her. </p><p>                “She really is incredible,” he said with a broad smile.  “I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”</p><p>                After dinner, Erica pulled Marian back into the kitchen to ‘help clean up,’ once again leaving David in charge of monitoring her mother.  Her uncles invited Crowley outside to smoke cigars, and to her surprise he accepted. </p><p>                Marian started putting the leftovers away in Tupperware, and Erica loaded the dishwasher. </p><p>                “So now that it’s just you and me…”</p><p>                Marian sighed.  “Crowley can hear everything I say.”</p><p>                “Now that it’s just you and me and a nosy fucking &lt;<em>demon</em>,&gt;” Erica snapped, “How have you been?”</p><p>                She shrugged.  “Fine.  I mean, the last time I saw you, things were…Not good, but I’m fine now.”</p><p>                “He killed the other demon?”</p><p>                Marian nodded. </p><p>                “Anything else interesting happen since then, or have you been stuck in your little prison the whole time?”</p><p>                “It’s a <em>house</em>, not a prison—”</p><p>                “Can you leave?”  Erica gave her a pointed look.  “Then it’s a prison.”</p><p>                “At least I’m <em>safe</em> there.”</p><p>                Erica snorted.  “Safe from other demons, maybe.  You still have to deal with &lt;<em>him&gt;.</em>”</p><p>                Marian shrugged, searching for the right size container for a bowl of mashed potatoes.  “He’s not that bad.”</p><p>                “Do you hear yourself?  For real?”  She shook her head.  “He’s gotten to you.  He’s really gotten to you.  You’ve got full-on Stockholm Syndrome, Mare.”</p><p>                “I’ve just gotten used to him.  It’s that or go insane.  People can get used to anything.  Like Uncle Jim—he’s got a tumor the size of a basketball on his waist, and he got used to it—that doesn’t mean he likes it or wants to keep it.”</p><p>                “Uh-huh.  So you’re not turning to the Dark Side?”</p><p>                She gave her friend a crooked smile.  “Well, as my best friend, it’s your responsibility to kill me when I do.”</p><p>                “&lt;<em>If.&gt;  &lt;If&gt; </em>you do.”</p><p>                “&lt;<em>If&gt;.</em>  Yeah.  That’s what I meant.”</p><p>                Erica gave her a sidelong look.  “Anyway, anything interesting…?”</p><p>                “Well, I’ve been home—I mean, stuck in the house—most of the time, but he did take me to Japan.”</p><p>                “Japan.”</p><p>                “Yeah.  He knew I was really into animals before I started hunting, so he took me to one of those kitten cafes.  And this whole island full of rabbits running around—it was <em>amazing</em>.  The food was really good, too.”</p><p>                “A demon…Took you to look at rabbits.”  Erica had stopped all pretense of cleaning up and was staring at her friend.</p><p>                “Uh-huh.  They were everywhere, and some of them would come right up to you and you could feed them and pet them.  The island used to produce chemical weapons before they were banned, and they were tested on rabbits: Crowley said there are rabbit spirits now, sort of like ghosts but they’re only mad at the people who hurt them.  There are a lot of ghosts in Japan that aren’t really evil, they’re just sort of &lt;<em>there&gt;…</em>And there are other spirits that are like guardians of their temples and stuff, that are good.  Oh!  And we saw these ghosts of little kids that this guy killed, and they looked just like those creepy Japanese horror movies!  They killed the guy and then disappeared.”</p><p>                “You—they—you didn’t have to salt and burn them?”</p><p>                She shook her head.  “They were these <em>revenge</em> ghosts.  Once they got their revenge, they didn’t need to be ghosts anymore.  Crowley is better at explaining it.”</p><p>                “O-okay.  That sounds…Fun?”</p><p>                “Yeah.  It kinda was.  Oh—but the best part—well, the worst part &lt;<em>and&gt;</em> the best part, I guess—we went to this fox place.  It said it was a sanctuary, but it was like fox Hell—they were all caged up or sick and they all looked so depressed.  Crowley freed all of them—sent them to Canada, where they could live or die with dignity.”</p><p>                “He did that…For you?”</p><p>                “Well…I think he mostly did it to cause trouble for the humans running the place.  But yeah, it worked out for me too.”</p><p>                “Huh.  I wish someone would abduct &lt;<em>me&gt;</em> and take me to Japan.  As far as torture goes, it’s not bad.”</p><p>                Marian giggled.  “Yeah, he’s kind of alright, I guess.  If you don’t mind, you know, giving up your free will.”</p><p> </p><p>                The family reconvened in the living room.  There was a cozy fire in the fireplace, made all the warmer by the presence of a demon.  <em>A Christmas Story </em>was playing on the TV, but the main event was a traditional Yankee Swap.  Seating was limited, so Crowley suggested that Marian sit on his lap: Her extended family thought it was cute, while her parents and friends looked ready to murder him. He put his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek, just to piss them off, and her mother turned a festive, furious shade of red. </p><p>                “It’s a Yankee Swap,” Marian explained quietly. </p><p>                “I’m familiar with the concept of exchanging gifts on Christmas, love; I do get out of the office from time to time,” Crowley said, just softly enough for her to hear.</p><p>                “It’s…Not really a gift exchange.  It’s more of a game, that involves gifts…”</p><p>                “Are you playing, Marian?” her aunt asked.</p><p>                “No, I didn’t—Um, I didn’t plan ahead.  I wasn’t thinking...”</p><p>                “I brought an extra one for you,” her mother said.  “I figured you wouldn’t have…Time…To get something.”  She tried to smile at her daughter while also glaring at Crowley, and the result made her look like she was about to be sick.</p><p>                “Thank you.”</p><p>                Her aunt wrote down a number for every person playing and threw them in a handy Santa hat, then walked around the room and had everyone draw a number.  Marian drew number eleven, out of twelve people. </p><p>                “Oh, man,” Erica moaned.  “Three.”</p><p>                “I got two,” a cousin said forlornly, holding up their paper. </p><p>                Crowley leaned close to whisper in Marian’s ear: “Is this normal human behavior?  Or is your family a bit…Special?”</p><p>                Marian smiled and shook her head.  “Crowley’s never played,” she said aloud to the room. </p><p>                “Never?” her grandmother said in surprise.  “Are you Jewish?”</p><p>                Erica snorted.  After everything that had happened, asking a demon if he was Jewish was just the levity she needed. </p><p>                “He’s British,” Marian said quickly, because his accent was even if he wasn’t. </p><p>                “Ah.  Well, it’s a game we like to play in America at Christmas,” her grandmother said.  “We take turns picking a present, but you can steal from someone else.”</p><p>                Crowley perked up.  Stealing?  Maybe the holiday wasn’t as namby-pamby as he’d thought. </p><p>                “And number one is the best, because they get to go first and last, so they can have any present they want,” her aunt added.</p><p>                “And two is the worst,” said the cousin who had number two.</p><p>                They started the game, and though all the humans were having fun, Crowley decided it was, in fact, quite boring.  He decided to entertain himself by seeing how irate he could make Marian’s mother, as she was the most volatile of the people who knew him.  David was an experienced hunter, and merely kept one eye on the demon but didn’t act phased by anything he did; and Marian’s father was more concerned with stopping her mother from getting everyone killed than he was with being angry at Crowley for molesting his daughter.  He could drink away the anger later.  And Erica…Well, she wasn’t as much fun as Marian’s mom, but he might be able to get a rise out of her if he tried hard enough.  Like David, she was just keeping an eye on him, but she was much closer to Marian, and the little twitch in her eye that had started as soon as he’d pulled his angel onto his lap told him that he was, in fact, succeeding in pissing her off. </p><p>                He ran his hands over Marian’s thighs, acting like he was going to slide his hand between her legs or down her pants but stopping just short.  He rubbed her arms and shoulders, sliding his fingers down her collarbone like he was going to grab her chest, but again stopping short.  Catching her mom’s eye, he squeezed Marian’s ass and kissed her cheek.  Marian knew what he was doing, but there was nothing she could do to stop it, and saying anything would have just caused a scene with her blissfully unaware relatives.  So she pretended everything was fine.</p><p>                “Eleven, you’re up!” her aunt called.</p><p>                “That’s me,” Marian said.  “I have to grab a present,” she added to Crowley, hinting that she needed him to let her up.</p><p>                He released his hold on her and she stood up, looking around the room at her options: There were a few food-related gifts, which were always nice.  Someone had a mug with a Dunkin’ Donuts gift card, which would be useless to her.  There was a hideous ‘artisan’ lamp made from an old wine bottle, and one of those ’12 games in 1!’ gift sets that only exists around Christmas.  There was a giant Yankee Candle, because someone always brings a candle, and a set of snowman mugs and coasters that she was pretty sure had been at last year’s swap.  The most popular gifts were a target-shooting game, which had been stolen three times, and a wonderfully tacky mug in the shape of a cowboy boot that was filled with M&amp;Ms, which two aunts were determined to get, even if it meant enlisting their husbands and children to steal it back from the other side.  It was just like every year, and she loved it, enough that it just about distracted her from Crowley trying to be a dick. </p><p>                She selected one of the two remaining presents, a medium-sized gift bag with a snowman on it, and sat back down on Crowley’s lap to open it.  When she pulled the tissue paper out, she shouted in surprise. </p><p>                “No!”  She burst out laughing, removing the contents of the bag for everyone to see. </p><p>                They called her The Purple Lady, or just the Lady.  She had been acquired years ago, no one could remember exactly when or how, but she had definitely come from a craft fair.  She was crocheted out of purple yarn, with green accents, and as far as Marian could guess she was supposed to be some sort of dish towel.  A plastic doll face was framed by a bonnet, and her ‘dress’ hung from the base of the bonnet via a button.  It was one of the ugliest creations she’d ever seen, and the face had frightened her as a child, but it was perfect. </p><p>                Underneath the Lady were scratch tickets, like an apology for getting stuck with her.</p><p>                Marian’s family were laughing and joking, saying they hadn’t seen the Lady in a while, wondering who put her in the swap. </p><p>                Crowley stared at the strange…Thing.</p><p>                “It’s…Another tradition, I guess.  She gets passed around the family.”</p><p>                “As what, a punishment?”</p><p>                Several people laughed. </p><p>                “Yeah, I—kind of, I guess.  But it’s fun, because then you get to find a way to give her to someone else.”</p><p>                No one was going to ‘steal’ the Lady, which meant that Marian was stuck with it for now.  When the game ended and everyone was chatting, Marian gave her scratch tickets to Erica: It wasn’t like she could even turn them in if she won anything, and she couldn’t go anywhere to spend the money if she did.  She went to grab the Lady, but it wasn’t in the bag anymore. </p><p>                “What…?  Do you see her?” she asked her friend.  It wasn’t like anyone would grab her by mistake. </p><p>                Erica shook her head.  “Crowley didn’t mess with it, did he?”</p><p>                “Why would Crowley want to mess with—oh my god.”  She stepped back to the demon.  “Did you do something to the Purple Lady?”</p><p>                Crowley smiled.</p><p>                Marian groaned.  “She’s not possessed, is she?  Is she going to attack anyone, or make them attack anyone else?”</p><p>                “No, don’t you worry, I’m not going to let some creepy doll murder your family.  I just made her a bit more fun, is all.  Sometimes she might whisper things—nothing bad, just nonsense, really—and she might move on her own, on occasion.  But she’s not going to hurt anyone.  I promise.”</p><p>                “Where is she now?”</p><p>                “She’s in a green minivan, on the back seat.”</p><p>                That was her Aunt Gretchen and Uncle Bob’s vehicle.  They were fairly young and healthy, and probably wouldn’t have heart attacks when they encountered the New and Improved Purple Lady.</p><p> </p><p>                Children ran out of energy, and adults started to yawn: it was time to call it a night.  People filtered out of the house, hugging Marian goodbye, until the only guests left were David and Erica.  Marian was exhausted, her brain fried from worrying about what Crowley might do and what her mother might do in return, and also from coming up with answers to everyone’s questions and remembering which lies she’d told to who.  Normally, <em>everyone</em> was told the same story to cover up for her hunting life, but since her mom had already told one lie, it was hard to keep track of all the rest. </p><p>                “I’ll say this for the guy—he &lt;<em>is&gt;</em> good at selling things,” Erica told her quietly as they watched the last car drive away.  “He sold your whole family on him.  They freaking love him, and they’re all convinced he’s madly in love with you.”</p><p>                “Is that so hard to believe?” Crowley replied smoothly, appearing suddenly right behind them and slipping his arms around Marian’s waist.</p><p>                Erica jumped.  “Jesus!  Boundaries, man!”</p><p>                “You are so full of <em>shit!</em>” her mother swore, startling both girls.  “You’re a <em>demon!</em>  You &lt;<em>own&gt;</em> her, she is your <em>captive!</em>  You don’t love her.  You don’t even know <em>how</em>.” </p><p>                Crowley was unphased; he still seemed to find her antics amusing.  “Rather presumptuous, coming from someone who only learned demons <em>existed</em> a few months ago.”</p><p>                Her mother was shaking with rage, tears sliding down her face.  Marian’s dad grabbed her hand before she could reach for the flask of homemade holy water in her pocket and held her back.</p><p>                “Let it go, Sarah,” he urged.</p><p>                “No!” she snapped, trying to break away from him.  “No, I will not let it go!  I will not let &lt;<em>her&gt;</em> go!  You are a <em>monster</em>.  You took my daughter away from me, and—and you think she’s just some <em>toy,</em> some &lt;<em>thing&gt;</em> that you can use!  Don’t you &lt;<em>dare&gt;</em> try to pretend you care about her!”</p><p>                “&lt;<em>Mom&gt;—</em>”</p><p>                “If you <em>truly</em> cared, if it was even &lt;<em>possible&gt;</em> for you to love her, you would let her go!  You’d void that awful contract and let her be free—let her be &lt;<em>happy&gt;!</em>”</p><p>                “Mom, &lt;<em>please&gt;,</em> it’s okay.”  She went to step toward her mother to comfort her, but Crowley’s arms tightened around her possessively.   </p><p>                “No!  He needs to understand.”  She turned her watery, bloodshot eyes back on the demon, baring her teeth in a manic, sneering smile.  “<em>Humans</em> do not like being slaves.  They don’t like people who hurt them, who take advantage of them and—and use their bodies against their will.  You can own her for eternity, but she will <em>never</em> love you as long as you control her.  You can make her <em>act</em> like she likes being with you—make her cuddle up next to you; kiss you; have—have sex with you—” her voice broke at this last statement— “But she will always hate you for it.”</p><p>                Crowley seemed genuinely taken aback by her tirade.  His arms became so tight around Marian that she could hardly breathe; she let out a tiny whine and he released her entirely, allowing her to go to her mother.  Marian wrapped her arms around her, giving her father a reprieve, and let the woman who’d given birth to her and raised her as a human weep into her shoulder. </p><p>                “I know, Mom.  I know it’s been hard on you, and I’m so sorry—”</p><p>                “You have nothing to be sorry for!” she snapped suddenly, pulling herself up straight.  “None of this is your fault!  You sacrificed yourself to save us—to save an entire town of people!  Never apologize for that!  I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s just…It &lt;<em>has&gt;</em> been hard on me.  I was trying to hold it together for your sake—your father didn’t want you to worry about me.  I haven’t been eating, I hardly ever sleep anymore.  I quit my job—half the time, all I can do is lie on the couch.  I just can’t stop thinking about what <em>horrible</em> things you’re going through!  Honestly, I would rather die than have you with that demon for another second.  If you wanted to break that contract right now, I wouldn’t hold it against you—I’ll line up right at the gates of Hell and give him a piece of my mind when I get there.  You don’t—you don’t deserve this…” </p><p>                She collapsed in tears again, and Marian staggered backwards as her mother leaned most of her weight forward.  Seeing her mom hurt like this…&lt;<em>Shit&gt;.</em>  This sucked.  She may have been an angel first, but this was her real, human mom, who’d done everything she could for her since she was born. </p><p>                “I—” Marian stuttered, choking back her own tears.  “It’s not like that.  Don’t worry about me; I told you, I’m safer now than I ever was as a hunter.”</p><p>                “It’s not about being <em>safe</em>, Marian.  I want you to be <em>happy.</em>  I want you to be <em>free</em>—to have <em>choices</em>.  To—to hunt monsters like him, if that’s really what you want to do.  You have so much of your life still ahead of you, and he’s taken all of it away.”</p><p>                She could feel her heart breaking.  How could she make her mother understand that this was just something she had to do?  That she’d been through worse on Heaven and Earth, and this was no worse than she deserved for falling from grace?  She glanced at Erica, hoping for help, and just got a helpless shrug in response. </p><p>                Marian sighed heavily.  “God, it was so much easier just lying to you.  You used to think the most dangerous people I had to deal with were other people.  I wish I could just…make you forget that this ever happened.”</p><p>                “You could, you know,” Crowley said quietly.  “Well, not you—me.  If you wanted to.”</p><p>                Her mother snapped her head up to glare at him.  “What?”</p><p>                “It—it might not be such a bad idea,” her father said, helping to keep her steady. </p><p>                “How?” Erica asked, narrowing her eyes. </p><p>                “Well, I’m no angel—they’re better at this sort of thing.  I’d have to wipe her entire memory, going back to our initial…Meeting.”</p><p>                “When we were possessed,” her father growled.</p><p>                “What?!  I can’t believe you’re considering this!” her mother shrieked.  “You want to brainwash me so I don’t know Marian’s been abducted by a demon?”</p><p>                “You’re suicidal, Sarah.  You said so yourself not one minute ago.  It’s killing you, literally.”</p><p>                “Then just kill me!  Kill all of us, but let her go!”</p><p>                Marian looked at her father, then at Erica, and just for good measure she glanced at David, who was ready to step in if her mother plowed through herself and her friend.  Their eyes all seemed to say: &lt;<em>It’s up to you; no hard feelings if we die and get sucked to Hell, but gosh that memory trick sounds nice, doesn’t it?&gt;</em></p><p>She grabbed her mom in the tightest hug she could.  “I love you.  So much.”  As her mother hugged her back, she turned her head toward Crowley and nodded.  “Do it.”  The room held its collective breath for a moment and she clarified hurriedly: “The memory thing.  Not the killing.”</p><p>                “WHAT?!” her mother shouted.</p><p>                Crowley was at her side in an instant, touching her mother’s forehead.  She went limp in her arms, and her father struggled to pick up some of her weight. </p><p>                “She’ll have total amnesia,” Crowley warned.  “No memory at all since just before she was possessed.”</p><p>                Marian looked at her father: He nodded grimly.  “I’ll handle it,” he said.  “If she’ll be happy again, I’ll do whatever it takes.  You keep fighting your battle, Marian; I’ve got this one.”</p><p>                “We’ll help too,” Erica added, squeezing David’s shoulder.  David nodded.  “We’ll do what we’ve always done.”  &lt;<em>Explain away the supernatural; invent normal lives.&gt;</em></p><p>                She felt a crackle of energy shoot from the demon, and her mom slumped even further toward the floor. </p><p>                “She’ll wake in a few hours.  She’ll probably have one hell of a headache.”</p><p>                Her father managed to pick up her mom and carry her to the couch, then hugged his daughter goodbye; the farewells were repeated with David and then Erica. </p><p>                “Goodbye best friend,” Marian said, reminding her of her responsibility to kill her.</p><p>                Erica rolled her eyes, hugging her so hard she left bruises.  “I hate you.”</p><p>                “I know.”  Marian smiled.  “Makes it easier to kill me that way.”</p><p> </p><p>                They ported back home; Crowley said that his ‘acquaintance’ would retrieve the Bentley soon, but in the meantime it would be secure at her parents’ house.  Marian changed and brushed her teeth in a tired daze, her brain shutting off so she didn’t have to process what had just happened.  It couldn’t stay shut down forever, though; when she sat down in bed next to the demon, her breathing was shallow and her mind was repeating: &lt;<em>You just nuked your mom’s memory.  You BROKE your mom.  You couldn’t handle it, so you just made the problem go away—you COWARD.&gt;  </em></p><p>                “It was the best thing you could have done for her,” Crowley said, correctly assuming the source of her anxiety.  He slid his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest, shaking.  “I realize that doesn’t mean much coming from <em>me</em>, but your friends didn’t stop you, either.”  She didn’t respond except with a whimper; he hugged her tighter.  “People can’t handle the truth, angel.  You know that; you spent your whole life lying to everyone about <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>                It was true; the only people she’d been able to have honest conversations about life with were other hunters, and she still couldn’t be completely truthful with them.  Not even Erica had known about her previous life until Crowley attacked them. </p><p>                “You can thank your angelic heritage for that.  Angels lie more than anyone.  Demons, on the other hand—we hardly ever lie.”</p><p>                She sniffed.  “<em>Really</em>.”</p><p>                “When have I ever lied to you?”</p><p>                Marian opened her mouth to snap a quick response, and stopped.  Even before she’d made a deal with him, he hadn’t exactly <em>lied</em> to the hunters.  He’d manipulated them, withheld information, attacked them outright, and killed, but he’d never hidden the fact that he was evil.  Sure, all demons hid that they were demons; but once one had you, there was little reason for them to lie.  (This was decades before the Winchesters met Ruby, of course, which is a whole other issue.)  A demon would happily explain, in detail, how they were going to torture you.  And (for the most part) they honored their deals.  <em>Crowley</em> certainly honored a deal. </p><p>                “Today.  With my parents,” she said, sounding unsure.  “You said…No, you didn’t.  You &lt;<em>implied&gt;</em>…I guess that’s not the same, is it?”</p><p>                “What did I <em>imply</em>?” Crowley chuckled.  “That I care about you?”</p><p>                Marian tensed.</p><p>                “<em>Now</em> who can’t handle the truth?” he said, poking her arm.  “Is it so hard to believe?”</p><p>                She shrugged.  “You’re a demon.  It’s your job to destroy the world, not care about it.”</p><p>                “Who said anything about destroying the world?”</p><p>                Her eyes narrowed, though in her current position it was impossible for Crowley to see.  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” she grumbled, feeling too tired to argue but too grumpy to keep her mouth shut. </p><p>                “Ah.  Technically, that’s what &lt;<em>Lucifer&gt; </em>wants.  &lt;<em>I’d&gt; </em>rather have the world keep turning as it is.  Once he comes into power, he’s just going to kill all the demons off anyway.”</p><p>                “Didn’t he &lt;<em>create&gt;</em> demons?”</p><p>                “Doesn’t mean he can’t hate them too.”</p><p>                Marian scowled.  “So you’re carrying out your own death sentence.”</p><p>                “…Not exactly.  I’m creating my own personal insurance policy.”</p><p>                “…I don’t understand.”</p><p>                “You’ve read the prophecy—the &lt;<em>whole&gt; </em>prophecy.  What does it say after the bit about helping Lucifer to reimagine the cosmos in his own image?”</p><p>                She thought for a moment, closing her eyes to concentrate.  “It says…That if the half-breed doesn’t side with Lucifer, it can destroy him.  Not just send him back to the Cage, but kill him.”</p><p>                “Exactly.”</p><p>                “Wait, so…You’re telling me you went to all this trouble, not to help Lucifer, but to &lt;<em>kill&gt;</em> him?”</p><p>                “I already died once; I’d rather not do it again.”</p><p>                “Let me guess—you’d be in charge once he’s out of the way?”</p><p>                Crowley shrugged.  “A fringe benefit.  Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash.  I like things the way they are up here.  It’s much nicer than things downstairs.  Without humans running around, we’d have no more souls to torture.  More than that, though, demons are rubbish at creating.  All the little Earthy pleasures—Scotch, for example, and Cuban cigars—would all be gone.”</p><p>                Marian took a minute to digest all of this.  Then she took another minute.  “You’re not going to help Lucifer.  Or destroy the world.”  She pushed away from him so that she could look him in the eye.  “You just want to be in charge, so that things can keep…Happening.”</p><p>                “And in the meantime, Hell leaves me alone, because they think I’m working for them.”</p><p>                “But…Why wouldn’t you just…Just tell the angels that, and they would—”</p><p>                “Kill me?  Oh yes, good plan.  Any angel would smite me as soon as look at me.  Even if I could get a word in edgewise, do you think they’d believe me?  Would <em>you </em>have believed me, if I led with that?”</p><p>                Marian blinked.  “No.”  She sagged slightly, yawning, and curled back up against him.  “I don’t believe you &lt;<em>now&gt;</em>.”</p><p>                “You do, though.”  He ran his hand through her hair, and she leaned into his touch.  “Or, maybe…You <em>want</em> to believe.”  He kissed the top of her head.  His hand smoothed over the center of her back and she flinched as he ran over the symbol he’d carved earlier.  “Sorry, love; I forgot that was there.  Here; lie down and I can heal it.”</p><p>                She lay down on her stomach and the demon drew her shirt up to her shoulders; she shivered as cool air hit her back.  He peeled off the bandaging and pressed his palm against the cut.  Her skin tingled as the wounds scabbed over.</p><p>                “I’m not going to heal it completely, so you’ll still be protected for a few days.  No sense in wasting a good thing.”</p><p>                Marian rolled her shoulders, trying to get a feel for how tender the area still was—to her surprise, she could barely feel it at all.  “Thank you.”</p><p>                “Turn.”</p><p>                Oh.  The one on her chest.  Right.  It took her a moment to work up the courage to flip onto her back, exposing her front to him.  It didn’t help that her arms were caught up in her shirt, limiting her movement; to free up her arms, she had to remove her shirt completely.  &lt;<em>He didn’t do anything before&gt;,</em> she reminded herself.  &lt;<em>He’s not going to do anything to you now&gt;.</em>  Still, it was hard not to think back to those first few days with him, when he’d stripped her completely naked and groped her breasts.  &lt;<em>He’s not like that anymore</em>.&gt; </p><p>                She twisted onto her back, holding her shirt in her hand like a little security blanket.  Crowley’s gaze lingered on her bare skin and bra for a moment, and then he was all business, gently peeling the bandage away and turning the raw cuts into half-healed scars.  Marian went to put her shirt back on and he stopped her, telling her to roll onto her stomach again.</p><p>                “You’ve had a long day dealing with your relatives.  Mostly your mother.”  He thought for a moment.  “And me, even though I was a perfect gentleman.”</p><p>                She jumped when her bra unhooked itself: Crowley brushed the straps aside and began kneading her shoulders, then worked his way down her back.  It felt…Nice.</p><p>                It felt <em>very</em> nice, actually, to be touched like this.  She was still feeling uneasy being half-naked, but her nerves were settling as Crowley continued to work.  There was Christmas music playing in the background (when had &lt;<em>that&gt; </em>happened?), which was familiar and relaxing.  It felt like she was melting into the mattress:  As long as he kept touching her, she was happy. </p><p>                &lt;<em>You should not be happy right now&gt;,</em> her brain alerted her helpfully.  &lt;<em>You should not be enjoying this.  Remember the Dark Side?  Be mindful of your feelings, young Skywalker.&gt;</em></p><p>She cracked herself up just imagining herself as Luke Skywalker, facing off a Crowley version of Darth Vader, except instead of saying “I am your father” he would say “I am your lover.”  It wasn’t really that funny, but she was so freaking tired, and couldn’t stop herself from giggling. </p><p>                Crowley paused with his hands on her lower back.  “What?”</p><p>                “Nothing, sorry.  Just…You know when you’re super tired, and your brain does weird things…I was just thinking about Star Wars.”</p><p>                “Ah, one of the great comedies,” the demon said.</p><p>                Marian giggled again.  “It’s not—It wasn’t funny!  I just…Ugh.  I’m too tired to have normal human reactions to things right now.”</p><p>                “So I should just let you sleep?” Crowley replied, massaging up along her spine. </p><p>                “Mmm,” she said, though it was hard to tell if she was agreeing or just enjoying what he was doing.</p><p>                &lt;<em>Not enjoying, definitely not enjoying.&gt;</em></p><p>                “Hey, Crowley…You can’t read minds, right?”</p><p>                He chuckled.  “No, but I can often tell what you’re feeling anyway.  Why?”</p><p>                “<em>Why?</em>  ‘Cause I don’t like having anyone in my head.  Got that too much as an angel.”  She yawned deeply, struggling to stay awake.  “They can rewire your brain.  Alter your memories, change your opinion.  Must’ve done it to me dozens of times.  They said I was so stubborn that the old stuff just grew back.”</p><p>                “Yes, you certainly have a stubborn side.  It’s…Rather endearing, now that I’ve gotten to know you.”  He moved her head so that her spine was straight and started massaging her neck.  “It’s no fun unless they fight back, anyway.”</p><p>                Marian tensed.  “Thought I wasn’t allowed to fight back,” she mumbled into the mattress. </p><p>                Crowley hesitated.  “You—Well, technically I suppose that’s true.  If I’d done things any other way, you would have tried to kill me a thousand times by now.  Not that that’s not its own kind of fun, but I spend enough time avoiding assassination out <em>there; </em>it’s nice to have <em>one</em> person in the universe I don’t have to worry about stabbing me in the back.  Though you could still try, I suppose, if you <em>really</em> wanted to break your deal.”</p><p>                His hands moved up into her hair, massaging her scalp.  She didn’t understand why she liked that so much, or why it made her feel all warm and tingly, but it did.  She exhaled deeply in a long, contented sigh, leaning into his touch. </p><p>                Crowley grinned: she may not love him yet, but it was a definitive “yet,” meaning it was only a matter of time.  Who would have thought the secret to getting people to like you was being <em>kind</em> to them?  Sure, it was harder than torture, which he was <em>naturally</em> good at; but the more he grew to care about her, the easier it became.  When she sighed happily, a tingle ran up his arms and down his spine.  &lt;<em>The Hell was that?  Some kind of half-angel mojo?&gt;</em>  It felt good, not like anything he’d felt as a demon: He felt…Cared for.  Appreciated.  No one in Hell appreciated him.  No one on &lt;<em>Earth&gt;</em> had appreciated him, either.  Granted, he was a worthless drunk at the time, but still…He deserved to be loved, right?</p><p>                He &lt;<em>needed&gt;</em> to be loved.  Gods, this whole ‘feelings’ thing was going to be the death of him.  He wasn’t thinking straight anymore, he knew that: When Marian’s human ‘mother’ had been yammering on about letting her be free, he’d started to find himself &lt;<em>agreeing&gt;</em> with her.  But why would he throw away the thing he wanted most?  He couldn’t release her from her deal: he loved her.  If he &lt;<em>didn’t&gt;</em> like her, then sure, he could get rid of her.  Let her be some other demon’s problem. </p><p>                “You know I can’t let you go.”</p><p>                Marian wasn’t sure what had brought that statement on.  “Go where?”</p><p>                “Your mother was under the impression that if I really cared about you, I should release you from our contract.”</p><p>                “Oh.  Well, yeah, she’s my mother; she’s going to try to protect me.  She’s only human.”</p><p>                “<em>I </em>can protect you,” Crowley said, kneading her shoulders.  “If I let you go, every demon in Hell and Earth will come looking for you.  They will destroy everything you ever loved, and when they find you—because they &lt;<em>will&gt; </em>find you, no amount of sigils and spells will keep Lucifer from his prize—I can guarantee you won’t find another demon like me.  What happened with Lester will seem like a vacation compared to the lifetime of rape and torture they will put you through.”</p><p>                As he spoke, Marian curled into a tight ball, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to keep her unhooked bra in place.  “I &lt;<em>know&gt;</em>!” she snapped, her voice wavering.  Damn, she was too tired for this crap right now.  “I know,” she repeated much softer.  “I’m sorry.  You’ve been kind to me, and I don’t always appreciate it because I’m too focused on you &lt;<em>owning&gt;</em> me.”  She startled as she felt her bra re-clasp itself across her back, relaxing her arms when she realized her cleavage was no longer in danger of popping out.  “And yeah, I have thought about trying to break our deal before, ‘cause having my life controlled by a demon isn’t exactly ideal.  But if my options are you or any other demon, I’d rather stick with you.” </p><p>                Crowley laid down beside her, pulling a blanket up to her shoulders and wrapping his arm around her waist.  It was…<em>Uncomfortable</em>, being in this position with just her bra as a top, but she supposed she’d gotten used to everything else he’d thrown at her; this really wasn’t any worse. </p><p>                “My little fallen angel.”  He kissed her shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine.  “Get some sleep, love.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23: Update User Agreement?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shortly after New Year’s, Crowley announced that they were going out on another date.  He had the whole day planned out, but he was being secretive about it.  He told Marian to dress like she would on a hunt, and bring her usual weapons.  Then he produced a pair of black handcuffs that were unlike anything she’d seen before: The cuffs were thick, like a chunky bracelet, and covered in strange runes: the chain between the cuffs was longer than normal, the links small but sturdy, like on a necklace. </p><p>                Marian took a step back when he showed them to her.  “Are those really necessary?  I have to do what you say anyway—”</p><p>                “We’re going somewhere we shouldn’t be,” Crowley explained.  “As long as you’re connected to me through these, you’ll exist in the same plane of reality as me: Just like your little winged rats, no one will be able to see, hear, or touch us.”</p><p>                She held out her non-dominant hand so that he could cuff her.  As it clicked shut around her wrist, the hinge vanished, leaving a completely smooth circle without a keyhole. </p><p>                “I’m the key, don’t worry.  You won’t be attached to me forever.”  The demon thought for a moment.  “Well, not through &lt;<em>these&gt;</em>.”  He snapped the other end around his own wrist.</p><p>                “So we’re sneaking around somewhere,” Marian pried, wondering just how crazy this was going to get.  She knew he wouldn’t bring her anywhere where other demons might get to her, but it was a little intimidating knowing that they had to both be hidden.</p><p>                “You seemed to enjoy our little date at the fox farm, so I thought, why not up the ante?  I hardly ever get the chance to show off around you.”  He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the house was gone, and they were standing on the deck of a large ship.  “Environmental activism, angel.  It’s right up your alley.”</p><p>                The deck rolled under her feet and she grabbed his arm to steady herself.  The demon seemed completely unphased by the turbulence, but smiled at having his angel cling to him.  Marian took in their surroundings: They were on one of several decks, with several doors lining the main body of the ship.  Signs were written in both English and Japanese.  Looking out at the ocean, there was nothing as far as the eye could see but more water.</p><p>                “Where are we?”</p><p>                “Japanese whaler.  It’s classified as a ‘scientific’ vessel, but the ‘science’ is how much they can sell whale meat for on the black market.  They’re currently after a sei whale—the 10<sup>th</sup> they’ll have caught this year, but Japan as a whole accounts for about 50 sei whale deaths annually.  And that’s just this one species—they also hunt fin, blue…Anything that swims past them, really.”</p><p>                Marian’s eyes narrowed.  “You brought me here to watch some Japanese people kill a whale?”</p><p>                “Of course not, angel.  I brought you here to stop them.  Come on.”</p><p>                He took her cuffed hand and led her onto the bridge, where half a dozen men were shouting excitedly into walkie-talkies.  It took Marian a moment to remember that they couldn’t see her.</p><p>                “They’ve been hunting this one for hours, and they’re finally catching up to it.  Captain’s just ordered the harpoons manned, and they’re gunning the engines to get up alongside it.”</p><p>                “So what do <em>we </em>do about it?”</p><p>                “&lt;<em>You&gt; </em>just sit back and watch the show.” </p><p>                They vanished again, reappearing in the engine room.  Several engineers were shouting over the hum of machinery, barking orders back and forth and twisting important-looking valves.  Crowley snapped his fingers, and the noise ground to a halt: The men looked utterly perplexed as they were suddenly audible to each other.  Steam hissed out of pipes and boilers, but there was nothing else <em>happening</em> anymore.  The cavernous space echoed eerily, bouncing every word back as it was spoken.</p><p>                “Call the bridge,” one worker said in Japanese.  &lt;<em>Call the bridge&gt;</em>, the echo replied.</p><p>                “Phone’s down.”  &lt;<em>Phone’s down&gt;.</em></p><p>                “Walkies are dead.” &lt;<em>Walkies are dead.&gt;</em></p><p>                “Then MOVE<em>!</em>” &lt;<em>Move move move move…&gt;</em></p><p>                A wiry, soot-covered man pulled a loop of keys from his belt and began unlocking the side panels on the largest boiler.  “What the Hell is going on here…”</p><p>                A massive door swung open.</p><p>                “See anything, boss?”</p><p>                “It’s just soot—No, hold on.  Something’s in there.  I can see something mov—aaaaiiiEEE—” </p><p>                The boss-man staggered backwards with a scream, flailing his arms as thousands of soot-covered spiders swarmed over him.  The rest of the men decided it would be a good idea to contact the bridge in person, and there was a mad dash for the exit, with the spider-covered fearless leader taking up the rear. </p><p>                “Oh dear,” Crowley deadpanned.  “It appears they’re having some mechanical issues.  I do hope it doesn’t compromise their scientific research.”</p><p>                They popped back up to the bridge, where the crew was blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding beneath them.  The first mate was staring at a computer screen that looked like a giant fish-finder.  There was only one thing on it at the moment, a little dot that was getting steadily closer by the second.  The rest of the screen read off the ocean’s depth, which was…Well, Marian wasn’t sure what a fathom was, but it seemed plenty deep here. </p><p>                A scream came across one of the walkies, and Marian looked at Crowley curiously. </p><p>                “Ah.  They must have armed the harpoons.”</p><p>                “What did you—”</p><p>                Something large and wet smacked against the starboard window, and then just…Stuck.  Marian jumped in alarm, but Crowley squeezed her hand, holding her in place. </p><p>                “They can’t hurt you.  They don’t even know you exist.”</p><p>                “’They?’”</p><p>                The thing moved on the window, and now she could see it: A giant, slimy blob, with lots of twisty limbs. </p><p>                “A giant octopus?”</p><p>                “Octopi,” the demon corrected.  “There’s more than one harpoon.”</p><p>                “You—you turned them into those things?”</p><p>                “Well, I could have turned them into something worse, but I know how you are about killing your precious little humans…”</p><p>                The bridge was in chaos.  One man was trying to reach the engine room, another the harpoons. The captain was breathing heavily into his own hat; and the first mate, vigilantly staring at the sonar, had realized there was another problem. </p><p>                There was another shape, dead ahead.  It was larger than the whale, and if he glanced out the window now, and saw past the octopus arms, it was just possible to see the iceberg that had no business floating this far south in the Pacific. </p><p>                The first mate said some very bad words.  When those words weren’t bad enough, he made up some new ones on the spot.</p><p>                “Hold on,” Crowley said, and they were moving again.</p><p>                Marian realized she was holding her breath, and let it out.  They were no longer on the ship.  They were standing on the iceberg, which the ship had just struck (or was it the other way round?), and both had taken significant damage.  A whale surfaced for air off the starboard side of the ship, like a big middle finger from the sea. </p><p>                She stared at the scene in front of her for a moment, taking it all in.  The ship’s crew were running around like chickens with their heads cut off: They’d trained for normal emergencies, but training had never covered “engines turn into spider nests” or “harpoons transform into giant, angry octopi,” let alone “iceberg materializes in seasonably warm waters.”  They would all make it home safely, she had a feeling, but no one was going to believe what they’d seen.  Maybe some of them would give up whaling for good.  Hell, they might give up sailing entirely after an experience like this. </p><p>                “Well?” Crowley said, nudging her.  “What do you think?”</p><p>                “I think…You like showing off,” she replied, then laughed.  “And you’re very good at it.”</p><p>                He grinned wickedly.  “I’m the <em>best</em>, love.”</p><p>                “I bet one or two of them might even sell their soul to get home safely after all this,” Marian speculated, keeping her eyes on the demon.</p><p>                His grin didn’t falter.  “That is a fantastic idea that had not occurred to me until right this second,” he replied in a way that indicated it had very much occurred to him prior.  “It would be terribly rude of me not to offer them my services.  Excuse me one moment, would you?” </p><p>                Crowley tapped the cuff and it popped open. </p><p>                “Wait!  You’re leaving me here?”</p><p>                He kissed the top of her head.  “You’ll be safe here; I won’t be gone more than a minute.  In the meantime, you can get a closer look at your little mammalian friend.”</p><p>                She did a double-take as the whale swam right up against the ice, sliding its massive flipper across the surface.  Crowley vanished, but Marian was focused on the whale now.  She scooted closer, careful not to slip.  The whale was just…Hanging out, it seemed.  She could see its eye under the surface of the water, looking up at her with a sort of magnificent disinterest, like a human watching an ant crawl across a table.  The whale knew she was there, but she didn’t register as a threat: she barely registered as anything at all, except that now a demon had somehow gotten this giant creature to come over to her.  She reached out, waiting for it to turn and swim away, but it stayed in place, like a swimmer holding onto the edge of the pool for a breather. </p><p>                She touched the flipper.  She was touching a &lt;<em>freaking whale,&gt;</em> something she hadn’t done in this life or even her past one, as far as she knew.  An endangered whale that would have died today, but didn’t, just because a demon wanted to show off in a very demonic, chaotic fashion.  &lt;<em>Hmm.&gt;</em>  An animal was safe, and bad people were one step closer to going to Hell…Was there a downside to this?</p><p>                Crowley returned before she froze to the ice, looking pleased with himself, and they were off to their next destination.  With the special cuff linking them together again, they reappeared in an abandoned factory, where metal and wood panels had been arranged into a circular arena.  The insides of the panels were splattered with blood, as was the floor.  About two dozen men were hanging around on the outer edge of the arena, smoking and talking.  Marian could hear dogs barking nearby.</p><p>                “A little work-related detour, I’m afraid.  A man’s brother was shot and killed by the leader of this…Gang, for lack of a better word.  So he sold his soul to kill the leader and his followers.  The gang mainly deals illegal weapons, but they have a lucrative side business as the leading dog-fighting ring in Detroit.”</p><p>                Two overly-tattooed men burst through the door, each holding a pit bull on a thick chain.  The dogs snarled and snapped at each other.  Their ears had been cut off, and they were covered in scars. </p><p>                Marian started to back away, but she was hampered by the chain.  “Crowley…”</p><p>                “Don’t worry, angel; I didn’t bring you here to watch a dogfight.  No dog-on-dog violence today.”</p><p>                The dogs were hauled to opposite ends of the ring; the makeshift walls were moved so that they could be shoved inside.  Their handlers strained against the leashes to keep them in place as each tried to get at the other. </p><p>                &lt;<em>There are no bad dogs,&gt;</em> Marian thought bitterly, &lt;<em>Just bad people.&gt;  </em></p><p>                “Do you know the difference between a hellhound and a pitbull?” Crowley said conversationally. </p><p>                Marian shook her head, ready to look away as soon as the dogs were released.  The men were really riled up now, almost as much as the dogs: they reminded her of wild monkeys.  Or werewolves.  What they were &lt;<em>not</em>,&gt; she decided, was human.</p><p>                “It’s just…A &lt;<em>touch&gt;</em> of Hell,” he said, and snapped his fingers.</p><p>                The dogs’ eyes flared red.  They stopped barking and lunging, heads cocked like they were listening.  As the men started to mutter about their strange behavior, Crowley made a small gesture.  The dogs turned to face their handlers, and growled.</p><p>                “Hey!” one of the men snapped.  “Git your ass in there and tear that mutt to shreds!  I got 500 riding on you, boy!”</p><p>                “Don’t worry about it, mate.  You won’t need money where you’re going,” Crowley said, rather cheerfully, and flicked his wrist.</p><p>                Both dogs leapt at once, easily clearing the blood-stained barriers and latching onto their keepers’ throats.  The other men shouted and panicked; weapons were drawn.  As one of the handlers let out a curdling death-wail, his buddy aimed his pistol at the dog’s head and squeezed the trigger.  Marian flinched, closing her eyes and hiding her face in Crowley’s shoulder; but the gun jammed. </p><p>                She looked up at the demon, and he winked.</p><p>                There was a click, followed by another click, as more guns jammed.  The doors slammed open, and half a dozen prized fighting dogs burst through, eyes glowing red.  They went straight for the humans’ throats, latching on with jaws that were made for tearing through much tougher skin.  A few of the men tried running for the exits, but now the doors were jammed shut.  They pulled knives when the guns failed, but the dogs weren’t deterred.  One by one, the men fell in a grisly bloodbath of fur and teeth, until every last one was dead.  Marian supposed that she should be shaken by the sight before her: These were &lt;<em>humans</em>,&gt; after all, and they’d just been slain by hellish hounds. </p><p>                Only…They were bad humans.  Practically demons, really.  And the dogs were…Well, they were just getting a little payback, really.  She’d heard about what people did to fighting dogs, and it made werewolves look civilized by comparison. </p><p>                Their task completed, the dogs assembled in front of Crowley.  Some stood at attention, others licked blood from their legs.  None of them showed any interest in fighting the other dogs. </p><p>                “Good dogs,” Crowley praised them.  “Now, let’s get you home.”  With a flick of his wrist, every dog’s neck snapped in unison and their lifeless bodies slumped to the floor.</p><p>                Marian let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a shriek.  After all that, he was just going to kill them?</p><p>                “Look, they were going to die either way,” Crowley said.  “Fighting dogs are always euthanized, you know that.”</p><p>                “But—”</p><p>                The demon frowned.  “You can’t see them, can you?  Hold on.”  He tapped her forehead.</p><p>                Standing beside each body was another copy of the dog, only now it was bigger and even more scary-looking. </p><p>                “You made them into real hellhounds.  I didn’t know that’s…How it worked.”</p><p>                “Well, it’s one way.”  Crowley whistled and the dogs’ regrown ears sprang up.  “Go on home, boys.  And girl.”</p><p>                The dogs turned, started to run, and vanished.  Marian looked down at the dead bodies. </p><p>                “They’re better off, and the people responsible are dead,” Crowley reminded her, concerned by her lack of enthusiasm. </p><p>                “Yeah,” she replied flatly.  “Good.”</p><p>                Hmm.  She was harder to impress than he’d thought.  Alright; no problem.  Dog fighters and whalers weren’t the only douchebags he had lined up for their day out. </p><p>                He ported them to their next location: A barren expanse of road in the desert, littered with bags of trash. </p><p>                “A common dumping ground for people too lazy to go to the dump,” Crowley announced. </p><p>                Marian scrunched her nose up.  Surely he wasn’t going to show her an animal &lt;<em>here</em>.  There was nothing around for miles except a few crows looking to capitalize off of the bounty of trash.  Was he going to make hell-crows?  Was that a thing?  It didn’t sound like a thing. </p><p>                He undid their cuffs and led her to a small pile of bags, toeing them gingerly.  “It’s also a dumping ground for…Other things.”  He nudged the bags a little harder, and something inside one of them whimpered. </p><p>                Marian cocked her head.  Crowley motioned for her to inspect the bag. </p><p>                It was full of puppies.     </p><p>                What the fuck.</p><p>                “Quite common for people to dump animals out here,” Crowley said conversationally.  “It’s a slow, painful death by overheating and asphyxiation.”</p><p>                Marian removed the puppies one by one, checking them for life signs.  There were twelve total: Four were definitively dead, four were a few breaths away from being dead, and four probably had at least another hour in them before they died.  As she picked up one of the almost-dead ones, it looked her straight in the eye, wagged its tail once, and died.</p><p>                Marian’s eyes welled with angry tears.  “Why did you bring me here?”</p><p>                “Because I know who did it.”  He snapped his fingers and a bewildered man appeared beside them.</p><p>                “What?  Where the Hell am I?  Who the Hell are you?” the man stuttered, trying to move around but finding himself frozen in place. </p><p>                “Meet Donald Umbridge,” Crowley said, ignoring him.  “36 years old, DJs at a local strip club.  He’s single, if you can believe it, but he does have five kids he’s supposed to pay child support on.”</p><p>                “Hey!” Donald snapped.  “How do you know—”</p><p>                “He also has a lot of dogs,” the demon continued.  “I don’t think <em>he</em> knows how many he has, mostly because none of them are neutered and so they keep reproducing.  Currently, not counting the ones in front of you, he has 16.  Over the course of his life, however, he has been responsible for <em>57</em> deaths, either from dumping them here, or general neglect.”</p><p>                “Now hold on just a—”</p><p>                “What would you like me to do with him?” Crowley asked.</p><p>                “Who ARE you people?!”</p><p>                Crowley finally turned his attention to the man.  “She’s a fallen angel, and I’m a demon.”  His eyes flashed red.  “Now hush, adults are talking.”</p><p>                Donald’s eyes went wide.  He moved his lips frantically, but no sound came out. </p><p>                “So,” the demon said, turning back to Marian, “What do you think?”</p><p>                Marian looked at the man, then down at the puppies.  &lt;<em>Some monsters are human&gt;.</em>  “An eye for an eye,” she said quietly.  It was a very ‘angel’ thing to say, and she hated herself for it, but right now she hated this man more.  “I want to tie <em>him</em> up in a garbage bag and leave him in the desert.”</p><p>                A smug, snakelike grin spread across Crowley’s face.  “<em>Excellent</em> idea, angel.”  He snapped his fingers and duct tape appeared over the man’s mouth and hands, taping his fingers together so he couldn’t use them to break free; then his arms were taped to his sides, and finally his legs were taped together.  He lost his balance and flopped to the ground just before he was swallowed up by a giant trash bag.  He thrashed around a bit, his cries of outrage muffled by the duct tape and plastic.</p><p>                Marian smiled, but her expression dropped as soon as she turned back to the puppies.  She knelt by the ones that were still alive, but they didn’t look good.  Even if she asked Crowley to bring them to a shelter, they’d probably all be euthanized.  She’d always hated hunts like this—even though they killed the monster, they hadn’t been able to save the people…</p><p>                “What’s wrong, love?”</p><p>                “I just…Wish I could’ve helped the dogs.”</p><p>                “You did!  You got rid of that pathetic excuse of a—Oh, I see what you mean.”  Crowley looked down at the dogs: The dead ones hadn’t been dead for long, maybe a few hours at most.  Why did she even care about them?  It’s not like she’d ever seen these animals before.  Then again, hunters were <em>always</em> saving people they’d never met before.  It was just one of those things a demon wasn’t meant to understand, he supposed.  The man in the trash bag started to shuffle and roll away from them, letting out little grunts of exertion.  Crowley flicked his wrist and the bag was suddenly populated with hundreds of maggots: The man screamed and the thrashing increased in intensity. </p><p>                “I’ll make a deal with you,” Crowley said, turning away from the entertainment.  He gently took the puppy she was holding, setting him back with his littermates, and helped her to her feet.  “For each kiss you give me, I will heal one dog.  If you want to revive all of them, that’s twelve kisses.  They’ll all be alive, with clean bills of health, and we can take them to a shelter where they’ll all get adopted.”  He had her full attention now. </p><p>                Marian blinked.  One kiss for one dog?  That seemed…More than fair.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t kissed him before.  It had been like kissing a volcano, but with more tongue.  He’d burnt her lips so badly, they’d peeled for over a week. </p><p>                She’d gotten quite a bit closer to him since then, though.  Maybe she just remembered it being so awful because she’d hated him at the time, for threatening other people and forcing her into this deal—not to mention all the people he’d hurt before.  And even though he was still, technically, the enemy, she no longer hated him.  He’d grown on her quite a bit—too much, in fact.  That was the real problem, wasn’t it?  Not, ‘what if it hurts me to kiss him?’ but ‘what if I like it?’</p><p>                Crowley smirked, like he knew what she was thinking.  Why even offer her a choice, though?  He could just &lt;<em>order&gt;</em> her to kiss him.  It’s not like she could say no. </p><p>                This way, though, it was more like she was kissing him…&lt;<em>Voluntarily&gt;…</em></p><p>                Still, she’d done worse things to save lives.  &lt;<em>It’s just Crowley.  He holds you while you sleep&gt;,</em> she told herself<em>, &lt;I think you can handle this.&gt;</em></p><p>                “Deal,” she said.  She’d meant to sound strong and assertive, but her voice came out so quiet she barely heard herself.  She glanced down at the dead and dying dogs and sucked in a nervous breath. </p><p>                She kissed him before her brain could talk her back out of it, pressing her lips firmly against his.  He wasn’t as hot as she remembered, and the sulfur on his breath wasn’t as overpowering to her anymore.  Crowley slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.  She tensed but didn’t try to push away. </p><p>                He licked across her bottom lip and nipped it gently, a complete change from his aggressive behavior before.  He took the lead, sliding his tongue into her mouth.  Her face pulled into a grimace, but she forced herself to reciprocate, using her own tongue and kissing him back.  She felt like she was about to gag and drew back, breaking the kiss. </p><p>Crowley snapped his fingers, and one of the dying puppies perked up.  It stood and started to sniff the ground, its tail wagging slowly.  Its fur looked fuller and clean, without a trace of parasites or maggots. </p><p>She kissed him again.  As he returned the kiss, his tongue once again exploring her mouth, her brain thought: &lt;You’re kissing a corpse.  Crowley is wearing a meat-suit.  He is wearing a dead guy, and now you’re kissing him and damn that’s wrong on so many levels.&gt;  She pulled away, trying very hard not to act like she wanted to vomit.  Crowley snapped, and a second pup was revived.</p><p>                &lt;Ten more,&gt; Marian thought.  Maybe she didn’t have to save &lt;all&gt; the puppies.  But she’d done so much worse than this as a hunter: She’d been stabbed, bitten, shot, crushed, almost drowned, set on fire, and thrown through walls, all to save people.  Surely she could kiss a demon a dozen times to save some dogs. </p><p>                Another kiss.  She didn’t feel as nauseous anymore.  Another dog recovered.  And another kiss.  Crowley was starting to be less gentle, but he still wasn’t being rough with her: If she’d been in a romance novel, he would have been described as “passionate,” but she didn’t think that a demon could ever be described as “passionately” doing anything, except maybe torture.  He was…Very good at kissing.  He had a lot of experience, given his job, obviously—how many people had he sealed a deal with over the years?  Wait—how old was he, anyway?  She thought she remembered him saying he lived around 300 years ago.  So, assuming he’d been tortured for a while in Hell and then worked his way up in the ranks, maybe he’d been a crossroads demon for two hundred.  How many deals would he have made in that time?  How many souls had he condemned to Hell? </p><p>                She kissed him again.  Did he seal all his deals so…Intensely, or were they more of a quick peck on the lips?  Why was she even thinking about this now?  Was she dissociating?  That was probably a healthy thing to do.  But now that she realized she was starting to dissociate, her brain dragged her back into the moment, and she was very much aware of sulfur and too much heat and his tongue in her mouth.  His hands strayed down to her ass, and she huffed angrily but didn’t try to swat him away:  It wasn’t like she could make him stop, so what was the point?</p><p>                Another kiss.  And another.  She was getting used to the heat and the sulfur.  She could get used to this.</p><p>                &lt;No.  DO NOT get used to this.  That’s exactly what he wants.&gt;</p><p>                More kisses.  Marian realized she could no longer hear the background noise of frantic scrabbling and muffled screams: Either the dog dumper was dead, or too exhausted to keep fighting.  How long had Crowley had this meat-suit?  Had he been possessing the same guy for two to three hundred years, or was this just the latest of many?  Kissing a demon who was wearing a dead person was one thing, but if that person had been dead for hundreds of years, that made it feel more…Icky. </p><p>                She realized she’d lost count.  When she pulled away from him again, she glanced over at the dogs to see how many were left:  Just three more.  &lt;Don’t think about the meat-suit.&gt;  Angels used live, willing hosts as their vessels, and they made an effort to take care of the bodies and keep them alive.  It still unnerved her when she thought about Crowley being inside of a dead person. </p><p>                &lt;Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve.&gt;</p><p>Crowley slid his fingers through her hair, gently gripping the back of her head.  She felt kind of tingly.  It could have been a lack of oxygen.  Or maybe it was because that felt…Kind of nice…</p><p>                &lt;<em>No&gt;.</em>  She pulled her head back and pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss and creating space between them.  He looked at her with the smuggest grin she’d ever seen and a glint of red in his eyes, and she turned away hurriedly, focusing instead on the puppies. </p><p>                “I don’t suppose you’ll ever admit to enjoying that,” Crowley said, suddenly all professional again. </p><p>                Ash bit her lip and shook her head.  She <em>hadn’t</em> enjoyed it.  She just had to keep telling herself that, like a mantra, until she believed it.</p><p>                The demon didn’t seem upset by her stubbornness.  He continued to watch her watch the pups: They scampered around her, jumping on each other and nipping playfully.  Their fur looked healthier and their bodies fuller, no longer malnourished or anemic.  Marian sunk to her knees and they stretched their paws up onto her chest and shoulders, trying to lick her face and bite her nose.</p><p>                Now &lt;<em>this&gt;…</em>This was worth it.  The monster was dead (or would be soon), and the civilians were safe.  As far as hunting was concerned, this was the best-case scenario, and it didn’t happen often.  One of the pups tugged on her hair, and she found herself lying on her back in the dirt while the rest of them dog-piled on top of her, licking her hands and face, wrestling with each other, and just being inescapably &lt;<em>alive&gt;</em>.  She realized she was laughing so hard that she was crying—or maybe she was crying so hard she was laughing?  How long had it been since she’d had a real win like this?  &lt;<em>Just this once, everybody lives&gt;.</em>  It was a line from some TV show, she couldn’t remember what one, but it had always stuck with her.  She’d had lots of ‘somebody lives’ and ‘almost everybody lives,’ but when could she say that &lt;<em>everybody&gt;</em> lives?</p><p>                “Ahem.”</p><p>                She sat up, reluctantly brushing the dogs off of her.  Crowley held his hand out to help her up; the puppies sniffed at him but did not attempt to jump up on him.  He seemed to exist in his own personal puppy-free bubble, while they continued to latch onto Marian. </p><p>                “Time to send them home.”</p><p>                The world lurched and she felt the mild sting of demonic energy as they moved from the desert to an icy parking lot outside the Sioux Falls Animal Rescue.  The puppies were now in two large crates, yipping excitedly. </p><p>                “Sioux Falls?”</p><p>                Crowley shrugged.  “Southern shelters have higher kill rates.  They’ll all be adopted from here.”</p><p>                Marian picked up one of the crates and he grabbed the other, and they gave the shelter a story about finding them out in the snow.  She assumed they’d return home after, but the demon brought them to a decrepit double-wide trailer in a sparsely populated neighborhood.  There were several broken-down cars in the driveway, one missing its doors and two missing their wheels.  Behind a chain-link fence, half a dozen hot and scrawny mutts lounged in whatever scarce shade they could find.  Their heads perked up at the new arrivals, and a few got up to bark at them.  More barks could be heard coming from inside the house.  As for the smell, well…She could smell the house from the street, and it smelled like not everything inside it was still living.  She glanced at Crowley curiously.</p><p>                “I told you he had more dogs,” Crowley said.  “I thought you might want the opportunity to save these ones, too.” </p><p>                She took a step back, eyeing him suspiciously.  Another deal?  Seriously?  He’d said it was no fun just <em>ordering</em> her to do something if he could manipulate her to do it instead.  It was like a game for him, but she wasn’t sure she understood the rules or purpose.  She imagined he would continue to up the ante for her: Save sixteen dogs for a blowjob, rescue this entire puppy-mill for sex, perhaps.  Marian looked over at the dogs: There was no water in their enclosure, and not much in the way of shade.  Would the neighbors notice their owner wasn’t coming back, and call animal control?  Surely someone would’ve called animal control &lt;<em>already&gt;</em> given the sad state they were in.  So, if she didn’t help them now, they would likely die.  What would be worse—not helping the animals when she had the chance, or engaging in sexual acts with a demon? </p><p>                Hopefully he didn’t have anywhere to be today, because she needed a while to mull that one over. </p><p>                “Angel?  Hello?”</p><p>                Marian blinked as Crowley waved a hand in front of her face. </p><p>                “Sorry, I…Spaced out for a second there.”</p><p>                “I said, same deal as before.  One kiss to save one dog.”</p><p>                She looked at him skeptically.  “The same deal,” she repeated.</p><p>                “What’s wrong, love?  Afraid you might enjoy yourself again?”</p><p>                Her eyes narrowed and she huffed angrily.  She opened her mouth to contradict him but couldn’t get the right word out, &lt;<em>no</em>,&gt; because all she could think in her head was &lt;<em>yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of&gt;.</em>  She looked at the sick dogs: The ones outside would be dead within days without water; the ones inside wouldn’t fare much better.  At least dehydration would kill them quickly, and they wouldn’t have to suffer through weeks of flea-induced anemia, heartworm problems, mange, and dental disease before they finally passed away.</p><p>                “Deal,” she snapped, unintended bitterness lacing her voice.  It wasn’t directed at the demon, but at the human who’d neglected these poor animals.  Hadn’t God told people they needed to take care of the animals they’d domesticated?  She was fairly certain Metatron had written it down somewhere.</p><p>                She kissed him again.  The slight tang of sulfur on him was like a breath of fresh air compared to the odor of decay coming from the dogs’ house.  He drew her against him, one hand on the small of her back and one on the back of her head.  He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled just enough to tilt her head back a little, giving him a better angle and maintaining control.  He was more aggressive now, like he’d been showing restraint earlier but couldn’t be bothered anymore.  His tongue explored every inch of her mouth, invasive but not antagonistic.  He nipped at her lower lip, gently at first, then with an increasing amount of hunger.</p><p>                Marian jerked in surprise and whimpered as he bit down hard, drawing blood.  If he’d been anyone else she would have smacked him, but she didn’t dare to hit Crowley. </p><p>                The demon released his grip on her hair and let her pull away.  His eyes were red, but faded quickly to the vessel’s natural brown.  Marian pulled her head back but couldn’t move away, as he still had his other hand pressed into her lower back, pinning her hips and torso against him.  Crowley gave her a look that was part concern and part confusion, like he was trying to understand her sudden objection.  He spotted the drops of blood beading on her lip and leaned in to lick them off: Marian froze, unable to get further away from him without wrenching her spine back painfully.</p><p>                He was back to showing restraint, gently swirling his tongue over the broken skin as he kissed her.  She felt the familiar burn of his energy, and the slight throb from the cut disappeared as he healed her.  His tongue slid back into her mouth, but this wasn’t an invasion: it was more like an apology, &lt;<em>sorry I hurt you&gt;.  </em>His hand returned to her hair, but he didn’t pull, just massaged her in the way that made her head all tingly.  When he finally drew back, she was feeling light-headed, and might have pitched backwards if he hadn’t been holding her.</p><p>                His smug smile returned, and he snapped his fingers.  Two of the sickest dogs perked up, walking to the edge of the fence and wagging their tails.  Marian kissed him again and again: Sometimes Crowley released her quickly, and other times he prolonged their contact, but he was gentler, as if he was afraid of hurting her again.  By the time all the dogs had been restored to good health, she was so disgusted with herself that she was ready to peel off her own skin.  And, truth be told, some of that disgust came from a teensy tiny bit of her mind that wasn’t all that disgusted, and had, in fact, thought that it wasn’t that bad, really.</p><p>                She was also feeling a bit light-headed from lack of oxygen, because Crowley kept forgetting that she needed to breathe.  When he let go of her, she stumbled backward and leaned against one of the dilapidated vehicles, cringing at the amount of dust and rust she picked up. </p><p>                Crowley looked even more smug, if that was possible.  “Animal control is on its way.  They’ll give the dogs food and water, and seize them when the owner doesn’t show up in 48 hours…Or when they find out what’s in his freezer.”</p><p>                “What’s in—”</p><p>                “Best not to dwell on it.  I’d hate for you to think you let him off easy with the trash bag.” </p><p>                And they were off again, the trailer replaced with a frozen country farmland.  Or…It &lt;<em>had&gt;</em> been a farm, at one point, but now it was just a few saggy buildings and acres of snow-covered fields.  There was a farmhouse in need of new…Well, &lt;<em>everything</em>,&gt; and a barn with a hole in the roof, glass missing from its windows, the siding peeling away from the walls.  There didn’t appear to be any animals in need of rescuing.</p><p>                “Where are we?”</p><p>                “Darlene and Jacob Montgomery,” Crowley replied.  “More business, I’m afraid, but I thought you might want to see.  Ten years ago, Darlene—who is not what you might call ‘conventionally attractive’—made a deal with me.  She wanted the ruggedly handsome and charming Jacob Montgomery to fall in love with her and marry her.”</p><p>                “You can do that?” Marian interrupted.  “You can—can manipulate people’s emotions like that?”</p><p>                “Darling, demons can do &lt;<em>anything&gt; </em>for a deal.  We’re not like your feathered friends upstairs with their <em>moral codes</em> and all that nonsense.”  He cleared his throat.  “Three years later, Jacob took one too many hits to the helmet and had a stroke.  Lost all function on his left side, and Darlene’s been taking care of him ever since.  Do you know, she even tried to get out of her deal because he wasn’t as attractive to her anymore?  Anyway.  She squandered his fortune on everything from vacations to sports cars, had a slew of affairs, and essentially bankrupted them.  So now she runs a puppy mill out of that barn.  Would you like to have a look?”</p><p>                Before she could respond with an adamant ‘no,’ they had teleported inside.  The smell here was…Well, it was worse than the last man’s property, that was certain.  The stench was so thick it was almost <em>physical</em>, thick like fog, and it settled in Marian’s lungs.  She choked and coughed, immediately feeling the urge to vomit. </p><p>                Crowley gripped her shoulder and the odor lessened, along with most of her stomach discomfort.  She was still sickened by the sight around her: Cages were stacked three or four high with dogs of all shapes and sizes, some with hardly enough room for them to turn around or even stand up in.  Many of the dogs looked up at her and barked or wagged their tails: others cowered into the backs of their crates, unused to human contact.  The floors of the cages were packed with old urine and feces, which certainly contributed to the smell: compounding the unpleasant aroma were the dogs themselves, who were suffering from every infection imaginable thanks to a lack of vet care, unhealthy amounts of inbreeding, and their unsanitary living conditions.  There was so much discharge coming from their eyes, some could barely see at all, or had an eyelid glued shut; dried green gunk ringed their noses; and angry pink and red bald patches on their paws and bellies hinted at ammonia burns and subsequent skin infections.  Kibble had been dumped onto the carpet of excrement, and water dishes were empty or soiled beyond viability.  Every long-haired dog was sporting painful-looking mats, while the short-haired and double-coated breeds looked mangy and scruffy, having never had a brushing or a decent day in the wind in their lives. </p><p>                Then there were the more disturbing cages:  Shoved to the back and sides, or just left next to the still-existing dogs, were crates that held nothing more than fur and bone, testaments to the ones that hadn’t made it out alive.  The dogs here were bred until they died, which seemed to be quite a common occurrence judging by the amount of lifeless yet not quite empty crates.  Their pups, raised in filthy conditions with their anemic mothers, would be sold out of the back of a pickup along with some sweet story about the family pet who ‘accidentally’ had a litter, or the tale of a loving pet parent just looking to do the breed justice.  When the pups fell ill a week later with parvo, or their new vet diagnosed one of many other health issues, the loving breeder’s number would prove to be an out-of-service number from an old self-storage company.  Oops, so sorry, no take-backs or refunds if you can’t find me! </p><p>                Upon closer examination (which she really didn’t want to do, but couldn’t stop herself either), she discovered the moms and dads all had horribly long nails that would snag on the cage bottoms, resulting in torn nails (a great entry point for more disease) and even torn toes.  Their teeth were in various stages of decay, missing entirely, or cracked from gnawing on the wire slats.  Some of the flat-faced dogs had bulged eyes, or had a hole where an eye should be. </p><p>               </p><p>                Marian had been feeling pretty good about things so far: She’d gotten to watch Crowley take down a whaling vessel and save a whale; she’d seen the end of a dog-fighting ring, even if the dogs hadn’t exactly won that round; she’d seen a heavenly sort of justice come to an animal abuser, and ensured that his dogs would live happily ever after. </p><p>                But this…This was too much.  How could <em>anyone</em> look at this and not immediately see a problem?  How could anyone, no matter how desperate they were for money, think that this was an acceptable thing to do?  Hell, steal from people if you’re that desperate, she thought—at least other humans can take care of themselves, for the most part.  But these guys?  Totally helpless.  Totally at your mercy. </p><p>                She made a strangled sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper, furious that there were humans that did this and upset that she might have defended them at some point in the past.</p><p>                “Angel?”</p><p>                “I <em>fought</em> for these people,” she growled.  “I gave up the life God had given me because I believed in them.  I know they fight each other, they hurt each other.  All they have to do is take care of the things they create—and <em>this</em>—&lt;<em>This&gt;</em> is what they do.”  She sagged against him.  “I should never have put my faith in them.  I should never have put my faith in—in &lt;<em>people</em>.&gt;”  She turned into him, hiding her face in his chest.  “They’re not worth it.”</p><p>                Crowley smoothed his hand down her back.  This was not how he had expected things to go.  They’d been having fun, bonding over torturing and killing people, and the angel had gotten her hunter ‘fix’ by rescuing things.  He’d enjoyed himself immensely, especially with his new favorite game of ‘kiss the demon to save the dog.’  But evidently seeing a whole barn full of rotting dogs was too much even for the hunter—maybe if he’d found something <em>human</em> she could save, she wouldn’t have gotten so emotional over it, but he hadn’t dared expose her to other monsters and risk something snatching her up again.</p><p>                Still, he could fix this.  He was King of selling sin to saints, and if he couldn’t sell a human angel on the value of humans, he really couldn’t call himself a salesman anymore, could he?</p><p>                “So there’s a few bad apples in the bunch.  That doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it for the other six billion, does it?”</p><p>                “More than a few,” Marian’s muffled reply came through his suit. </p><p>                &lt;<em>I can’t believe I’m defending humans to an angel&gt;.</em>  “Alright, yes, but you have to remember: Most of them aren’t inherently evil.  Or inherently good, for that matter.  Most of the world’s problems come from people just being…People.  They’re stupid and impulsive and illogical, and I can’t say it was exactly fun to be alive back in the day, but it beat the hell out of being a <em>demon</em>.  <em>Every</em> demon is, inherently, an asshole.  Your humans here—for every one that keeps its dogs in shit, there’s a thousand that condemn places like this.  Darlene Montgomery is not the majority, love.  And people like her <em>always</em> get what’s coming to them in the end, even without a demon deal.  Only good dogs go to Heaven.”</p><p>                As if to drive home his point, there was a loud crash from the nearby house, following by screaming and the blood-curdling snarl and howl of a hellhound.  Marian looked up reflexively and reached for her blade, but Crowley grabbed her wrist to stop her. </p><p>                “She won’t come after you, angel.  Hellhounds only fetch the souls they’re sent for.”</p><p>                Her hunter’s instinct wanted to go after it anyway—hellhounds killed people, they were monsters from Hell, and should be fought—but honestly, after witnessing the state of the barn it was hard to feel guilty about leaving this one alone.  She let go of the angel blade but couldn’t relax knowing the powerful beast was so close.  </p><p>                Crowley could feel the frustration and anxiety radiating from her, and he didn’t like it.  She was happy before, and when his angel was happy it was intoxicating: He felt things demons weren’t meant to feel, like joy and love.  It was better than getting drunk (which took a &lt;<em>lot&gt;</em> of alcohol for a demon, by the way).  Hell, it was better than &lt;<em>sex</em>.&gt;  It was the ultimate demon drug, and now that the feeling had faded he needed more.  Maybe there was still a way to impress her.</p><p>                He snapped his fingers and Marian jumped as every cage door swung open at once.  She turned her attention away from the grisly noises coming from the house and focused on the dogs, which were now creeping cautiously from their fetid prison cells to inspect the two humanoid figures before them.  She was surprised to see that their fur looked nicer now, no longer matted or missing in clumps, and their eyes and noses were clear and healthy.  Teeth were white or only slightly yellowed, and open sores had miraculously healed. </p><p>                “That’s all sorted,” Crowley said.  “I think we should call it a day.”</p><p>                She stared slack-jawed as dozens of dogs continued to pour out of crates, the ones on the top levels landing on the backs of their comrades as they hopped down.  There were a few growls and nips, but the dogs seemed too stunned by their sudden change in health and circumstance to bother fighting with each other. </p><p>                It was like a switch flipped in her brain.  Though she was still feeling bitter about humanity in general, she was elated to see the sick and dying animals healthy again.  Some were walking a little funny, but it was only because they’d never set foot outside their wire cages before.  She turned to Crowley, happy but confused. </p><p>                “But—I didn’t even kiss you—”</p><p>                He shrugged off her concern; the warm fuzzy feeling was returning, and that was all he cared about right now.  All he had to do was keep his angel happy, and he was happy.  “Eh.  This one’s on me.”</p><p>                She cocked her head to the side, not sure if he was being serious or if this was another sort of ‘game.’  But he looked…Well, she wasn’t sure he <em>could </em>look happy, but he was at least <em>content</em>.  So.  He healed the dogs out of the non-existent goodness of his non-existent heart?  It didn’t make sense to her, but gift horse, mouth…</p><p>                “Let’s get you home, angel.” </p><p>                The world went out of focus for a moment, and she found herself back in her room.  She’d never been so relieved to be back in her ‘prison,’ but she’d seen enough dead and dying dogs to last her a lifetime, not to mention the accompanying smells.  Still, overall the day hadn’t been half bad.  Crowley may have had his own motives for helping the animals, but he’d still helped them.  And the people he’d killed had all been bad people, so that wasn’t so horrible.  And yes, he was just trying to impress her, but what really impressed her was that he understood the things that were important to her.  That was more than she could say about most of the humans in her life.</p><p>                Marian slipped her hands around the back of his neck and leaned in to kiss him.  For a split second he was too stunned to react—he hadn’t expected an unsolicited display of affection, as welcome as it might be—and she almost pulled away from him, afraid she’d done something wrong.  But before she could, he had his arms wrapped around her waist and was kissing her back. </p><p>                Crowley was in Heav—well, he wasn’t in Hell, at least.  She was kissing him, and he hadn’t told her to.  He could feel the love radiating from her soul, and so what if it wasn’t meant for him?  It was a soothing balm for his twisted, tortured shell of a soul.  He felt safe, and cared for, and appreciated, and loved—all the things he’d hardly felt when he was <em>alive,</em> let alone dead.  Yes, Marian really loved the animals, and her friends and family, and all of the other living, breathing things she’d fought Heaven to protect, but right now he could pretend that love was meant for him.  He <em>deserved</em> to be loved; he &lt;<em>needed&gt;</em> to be loved.  He couldn’t get enough of that feeling, and he couldn’t get enough of <em>her</em>.  He wanted to touch all of her, taste all of her, reach inside of her and touch her soul…</p><p>                He needed to exercise restraint, or the good feeling would go away.  He’d been really good at restraining himself, so far.  He doubted another demon would have done half as well.  But it was hard to remember what he wasn’t supposed to do when he was drunk as hell on this feeling he wasn’t even supposed to feel. </p><p>                Marian tensed as Crowley’s hands slid down her lower back to grab her ass.  He pulled her tighter to him, grinding her pelvis almost painfully against his hard-on.  Her breath caught in her throat and she froze, suddenly terrified that he was going to make her have sex with him.</p><p>                It was like he’d been doused in ice water.  The intoxicating high was gone so suddenly that it stung, and he didn’t understand what had gone wrong. </p><p>                Ah.  Perhaps he’d gotten too physical.  Reluctantly, he slid his hands up to her back, allowing a depressing number of air molecules to come between them again.  But Marian was still tense, even shaking slightly; he’d have to change tactics completely. </p><p>                He gave up on kissing and got her to sit down on the edge of the bed.  “I just realized, you haven’t had anything to eat or drink all day.  Sometimes I forget that you’re only human.”</p><p>                She thought back to the bones and fur cemented to the empty cages with feces.  “I’m actually not really hun—”</p><p>                Crowley vanished.</p><p>                “—gry.”  Marian sighed and scooted up the bed to lean against the headboard.  She picked up a stray newspaper in an attempt to think about something other than rotting dogs.  No rotting dogs, no sex with demons…Ah.  An article on backyard gardening—that seemed safe enough.</p><p>                She jumped as Crowley reappeared beside her.  He set a to-go cup of coffee and a wrapped sub on the nightstand, then sat down next to her, turning the TV on with a snap.  Perhaps if he could take her mind off of all the cute little defenseless animals that had died, her mood would improve. </p><p>                Marian picked up the sandwich and gave it a curious sniff: Buffalo chicken, lettuce, tomato, homemade ranch, and extra pickles.  It was her usual order from her favorite sandwich shop.  “How did you know…?”</p><p>                He winked.  “I know everything about you, love.”</p><p>                The rotten odors and horrible sights were momentarily forgotten, and her appetite returned.  She wolfed down the sub, then leaned back to watch TV and sip on her coffee.</p><p>                The TV was playing a news story about local coyotes killing neighborhood cats.  Crowley changed the channel, only to land on an ad for the SPCA.  The following channel was playing a movie about a stray dog that no one wanted. </p><p>                Finally, he landed on a program she would like.  It was a sporting event he wasn’t familiar with, but it looked interesting: Two men in a ring, with very thin gloves, and though there appeared to be a lot of rules, they weren’t limited by traditional boxing or wrestling moves. </p><p>                Marian leaned forward to read the screen.  “Mixed martial arts.  I’ve never heard of that.”</p><p>                “Neither have I,” Crowley admitted. </p><p>                The contestants were punching, kicking, grappling and wrestling.  As someone who routinely had to fight her way out of a situation, Marian found it not only entertaining but educational as well.  Of course, a vampire wouldn’t accept the explanation that a full-nelson takedown was against the rules, but she still might learn a thing or two.</p><p>                …Not that she would use it, now that her hunting days were over.  But still. </p><p>                There were two color commentators, and even &lt;<em>they&gt;</em> didn’t know everything about the sport.  One would announce the name of a move being used, and the other would correct him; or the ref would call out an illegal maneuver, and the commentator would say it was a bad call, only to check his rule book and say it was a good call after all. </p><p>                Crowley watched the men with interest.  This was a brand-new sport, and it was much more exciting than, say, cricket.  There was a small cash prize for the winner in each weight-class, but if MMA caught on, it could be big—get its own Olympic event, have tournaments with large payouts—the champions could become celebrities.  It might be worth his while to keep an eye on the second-best players, see if any of them were willing to pay the ultimate price to become the best…</p><p>                Marian leaned against him and the happy, human feeling started to come back to him.  He slipped his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.  She was still holding onto a lot of tension, but she’d had an intense day, so that was probably alright.  Maybe if he could get her to relax, she’d radiate more of that positive energy.  He needed to soak up as much of it as possible before going back to work as a soulless, inhuman monster that angels routinely trod on for fun.</p><p>                He squeezed her shoulder, moving her forward just enough to get his arm between her and the headboard.  He traced his hand up and down her back, lightly at first, then with more pressure, and finally felt some of the tension in her muscles let go. </p><p>                “Why don’t you lie down, love, and I can give you a real massage.”</p><p>                She tensed for a moment but moved onto her stomach obediently.  Crowley pulled her shirt over her head and set it aside; she shivered and sunk as far into the bed as she could.  Her bra unhooked itself as he moved her hair off her shoulders. </p><p>                She rested her head on her forearms, and he began kneading the tension knots out of her muscles.  Even though he’d done this before, she still felt uncomfortable about being half-naked with him running his hands all over her.  What made it more uncomfortable was that it felt pretty damn good.</p><p>                Any decent demon had an excellent knowledge of human anatomy, because stabbing places at random and hoping they hurt was amateur at best.  Crowley could explain the origin and insertion point of every muscle (because it was satisfying disconnecting them one at a time), and knew exactly where the small intestine ended and the large one began (because who doesn’t love entrails).  It was just a small matter of changing one’s mindset from inflicting pain to causing pleasure, and the knowledge could be used for good. </p><p>               </p><p>                As she relaxed under his touch, he basked in the cool glow of humanity and love that now radiated freely from his ex-angel.  Thank Hell he felt more human, because that humanity was the only thing holding him back from ripping her pants off and ravaging her.  Intellectually, he knew it would undo all the progress he’d made with her, but as a demon it was hard to imagine another way of expressing affection.  He worked all the knots out of her back and shoulders, but he didn’t want to stop touching her.  He continued gliding his hand over her skin, laying down beside her so that he could plant kisses all along the back of her neck and shoulders. </p><p>                Marian was so relaxed, she was half-asleep when she felt the demon’s hot breath on the back of her neck.  Suddenly she was wide awake, her breathing shallow as his lips moved down and across her shoulders.  He licked and nipped gently at her skin, working his way back to the top of her spine, sending a shiver through her nervous system.  She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears and he kissed the same spot again, nipping her and swirling his tongue over the bite.  This time she shivered and rolled into him slightly in an effort to make her neck harder to reach. </p><p>                He wasn’t going to object to <em>that</em>.  Crowley put his arm around her waist and pulled her the rest of the way onto her side so that her back was pressed to his chest.  Now he could access the side of her neck, and he wasted no time covering it in kisses as well.  Marian shrugged her shoulder again, bringing her arms up to her chest in an effort to prevent the front of her bra from slipping away entirely—not that it mattered, she knew; if he wanted, he could just make it disappear. </p><p>                For the moment, though, the demon was more interested in the bits of skin that were currently exposed.  As she shortened her neck, he moved to her shoulder, then down her upper arm, while his hand traced over her ribs and torso. </p><p>                Three hundred years’ time had certainly given Crowley ample experience in the art of seduction.  If he’d been human, and not a demon hell-bent on aiding Lucifer with the destruction of Creation, she might have encouraged him to continue, but she was doggedly determined not to give in to this whole Abomination business.  He could make her do whatever he wanted, but as long as &lt;<em>she didn’t want it&gt;,</em> Hell couldn’t win.</p><p>                His arm tightened around her waist.  A blanket unfolded itself from the foot of the bed and was draped over them, and a pillow slid under her head.  He kissed her cheek, then the side of her mouth, and she turned her head toward him to kiss him back.  When it felt like her neck was about to snap from the strain, she rolled onto her back.  But now Crowley was able to lean over her, wedging a knee between her legs and sliding his hand under her ass to grip it gently but firmly as he continued to nibble on her lower lip. </p><p>                Marian whined in the back of her throat and went still as a statue.  &lt;<em>I will not give in to you.  You want to fuck me, fine, but you can’t make me like it&gt;.</em></p><p>
  <em>                &lt;…Well, maybe you can.  I mean, you are very good…&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                &lt;No.  No, you will not find any part of this pleasurable, Marian.  This is a demon wearing a dead person, trying to help Lucifer destroy the universe.&gt;</em>
</p><p>Crowley nuzzled her cheek.  “Too much?”  He squeezed her glute tighter, then released it.  “Mmm.  You do have a great ass, though.  All those years of running for your life really kept you in shape.”His hand returned to her waist and he turned onto his side, removing his thigh from between her legs. </p><p>                Marian turned into him, hiding her face in his chest.  He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head. </p><p>                “You’re alright, love.  I told you, I’m not going to force you into sex.  It doesn’t do me any good if you don’t want it.  I just wanted a little quality snuggle time before I went back to Hell.”</p><p>                She leaned into his touch.  “You say a lot of things, that doesn’t mean they’re true.  Like that you want to kill Lucifer, not help him—”</p><p>                “I &lt;<em>am&gt;</em> going to kill him.  Or have him killed, I suppose; I can’t do it myself.  Hmm.  I can see how you might have ‘trust’ issues, given our long history of trying to kill each other.  But we’re a team now—I wouldn’t lie to you.”</p><p>                Marian snorted.</p><p>                “I applaud your skepticism as part of a greater survival strategy, but in this very specific instance it’s unwarranted.  Perhaps it’s time we updated our contract?”</p><p>                She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes.  “What?”</p><p>                “You know I keep my deals.  So let’s make it official.”  He snapped, and the physical manifestation of their contract appeared in his hand.  The words started to shift, crossing themselves out and rewriting themselves.  “In the event that you become pregnant with my child, aka the Abomination, I will do everything in my power to ensure that it grows up to destroy the Adversary, Lucifer.  I will protect it from all malicious forces, be they angel, demon, human, or supernatural.  And as long as we’re talking business:  You are hereby released from my control.  You’re free to do whatever you wish.”</p><p>                Marian’s jaw dropped.</p><p>                “Assuming you wish to stay with me, I will continue to take care of you and protect you from malicious forces, which are essentially every demon on Hell and Earth.  I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what <em>they’re</em> like…”</p><p>                She bit her lip and looked away from him.  Yes, she was well aware of the alternatives to Crowley. </p><p>                “But you’re welcome to leave at any time.  I believe this qualifies as that ‘free will’ humans are always carrying on about.”</p><p>                “…I can say ‘no’ to you?”</p><p>                “Have I ever really made you do anything you didn’t want to?”  As Marian opened her mouth to reply, he added hurriedly, “Recently?”</p><p>                She scowled at him for a moment, but then her expression softened as she glanced at the paper that seemed to be done editing itself.  “You’re serious.  You’re actually serious.”</p><p>                “Always.  So, what do you say?  Make it official?”  With another snap, the contract vanished. </p><p>                “What’s the catch?”</p><p>                “No catch.  I already died once, and I don’t plan on doing it again.  Not to mention, taking the Devil out will put me at the top of the food chain as far as Hell’s concerned.”  He shrugged.  “As for everything else, I think your mother had a point:  You need to feel like you’re still in control.  I have no problem with that, as long as you’re at least &lt;<em>entertaining&gt;</em> the thought of this whole prophecy business.  It’s not like I’m on a time crunch here.”</p><p>                Marian stared at him.</p><p>                “I’ll take that as a yes?”</p><p>                She swallowed.  “…Yes.”</p><p>                He kissed her.  At first everything seemed normal, but then his lips started to burn, like when she’d made the first deal.  She could feel the original words burn hot under her skin, then freeze away, before the new text was seared onto her.  Her tongue burned like she’d scalded it with boiling coffee, and her lips split and blistered. </p><p>                Crowley pulled away, and the painful searing across her body vanished, but her mouth was still burned. </p><p>                “I can fix that.”  He kissed her again, and there was only a mildly unpleasant tingle this time as his energy healed her lips and tongue.  “Better?”</p><p>                She nodded.  Her head was still reeling from everything that had happened that day, from dead and not-dead dogs to, well, whatever the Hell had gone down in the last thirty minutes.  Honestly, this new deal wouldn’t really change much for her: She still had to stay with Crowley, or risk being snatched up by another far less kind demon and getting everyone killed anyway.  And it was true, if only recently, that he hadn’t really done anything seriously objectionable, but it was still nice to know that, officially speaking, she could object to him.  The biggest thing was the prophecy: He’d actually been serious about creating this half-angel half-demon to destroy Lucifer, and she could hardly object to that.  She still didn’t want to have sex with him, and she certainly wasn’t ‘in love’ with him like the prophecy said.  But if, God forbid, that changed, at least she would be saving the world and not destroying it.     </p><p>                Crowley could tell his little angel was exhausted.  He kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back affectionately.  He made a small gesture and her bra clasped itself.  “Sleep, angel.”</p><p>                Marian turned onto her side, pressing her back into his chest, and closed her eyes.  “You’re going back to work?”</p><p>                He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.  “Yes.  I’ll be gone for a while, I imagine: there’ll be mountains of paperwork to catch up on, people who need to be tortured, hellhounds to feed.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  He kissed her cheek.  “Remember you can contact me through that coin if you need anything.  If you’re lonely, you can always call your family or your well-endowed friend.  I wouldn’t tell them about our little agreement, though—if word gets out that I’m anti-Satan, every monster in Hell will be looking to take me down.”</p><p>                She couldn’t tell Erica?  It made sense, of course: another demon could torture her for intel, or she might tell her hunter friends and then &lt;<em>they’d&gt;</em> be tortured for intel, and then Crowley would be Hell’s Most Wanted.  Still, it was hard knowing Erica thought she was still in danger of destroying the world via an old apocalyptic prophecy.</p><p>                “Okay.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24: Why'd it have to be witches?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley was not a happy demon.<br/>	The paperwork was only the beginning.  There would always be paperwork; he could deal with that.  It was the incompetence of everyone working for him that he couldn’t stand.  <br/>	A demon named Jenny had failed to collect on a deal because she thought the human was attractive, and thought it would be a shame for a hellhound to tear his beautiful body apart, so she’d fucked him instead.  Another demon was trying to cash his deals in early, which was never good for business, and yet another demon had been caught trying to spray holy water on his top competitors.  On top of that, a small group of Australian hunters was targeting his sales team, calling demons to the crossroads under the guise of making a deal and then exorcising them or drenching them in holy oil and setting them on fire.  Australia was one of his best markets (it was such a dangerous country that its people were no longer afraid of anything, not even an eternity of torture—besides, Hell was cooler than summer in the Outback, and there were less spiders), and he couldn’t afford to let these meddlesome humans get in his way.  <br/>	It took weeks of watching and plotting, with plenty of breaks to deal with paperwork and insubordination, before he was finally able to kill the hunters in question.  And though it was difficult, and he almost lost his favorite meat-suit, it was ultimately satisfying to get real blood on his hands again.  He’d gotten a bit tetchy being away from Marian for so long—he’d lost the happy human feeling and was going through a bitch of a withdrawal—but killing put him in a slightly better mood.  Still, if he could just get back to his angel, he’d feel much better.  <br/>	All he had to do was take care of one more crisis.<br/>	And then another.<br/>	He should really kill his entire sales team and start over from scratch.</p><p>	He was elbows-deep in a werewolf’s torso, trying to get information on the hound’s pack and why they seemed intent on meddling in Scotland’s soul trade, but he wasn’t getting very far.  The werewolf was screaming and howling, but he didn’t appear to have any actual knowledge about his family’s habits—Crowley had picked the wrong man to torture.  And while torture was always fun, he wasn’t really  it today.  He’d torn the mutt’s intestines out with his usual precision, but what usually felt like an art form now felt like a chore:   It wasn’t fun anymore.<br/>	When he was satisfied that he’d gotten all he could out of the beast, he cleaned himself up and headed back to his office.  <br/>	“My lord?”<br/>	He turned at the sound of a familiar voice: Eloyah, his favorite sales leader.  She was the best (aside from himself, of course) because she had the most attractive meat-suit: Dark skin, full pouty lips, a bosom so large it needed special reinforcement, and an ass that Sir Mix-a-Lot could write a song about.  <br/>	“Yes?”<br/>	“I finished that report on rural India, and you were absolutely right—posing as local deities has increased our sales by 250%.”<br/>	“Great.  As long as the real local deities don’t catch on, we’ll be in good shape.”<br/>	“Yes sir.  I included that in the data as well—out of over 8,000 recognized gods and spirits, only 252 have any remaining hold in the country.  As long as we avoid the stronger ones, there shouldn’t be a problem.”<br/>	“Yes.  Good.  Carry on.”  <br/>	“There is one more thing, Sir.”  <br/>	Crowley sighed.  There was always one more thing.  “Yes?”<br/>	“I just…Couldn’t help but notice that you’ve looked more stressed than usual lately.  Sir.  And I wondered if there might be anything I could do to assist you?”<br/>	He blinked like a snake.  “No.  No, I’ve just been…Focused…On this project—”<br/>	“The Nutter Prophecy,” Eloyah supplied.  “Yes, sir.  Lillith herself has decreed that no demon is to interfere with your—your work.”  Like many other demons, she had a basic idea that the Nutter Prophecy had something to do with creating a weapon for Lucifer, and Crowley had somehow found the key to creating that weapon.  She’d gotten the memo, read ‘male meat-suit required,’ and stopped reading shortly after, unwilling to give up her prized Barbie doll look for a complicated and dangerous mission that might never pay out.  <br/>	“Yes.  I really do need to get back to it, but it’s just one damn thing after another here.”<br/>	“Maybe I could help with some of the paperwork?”<br/>	He didn’t like the idea of giving another demon more responsibility and power.  Eloyah was smart and hot, and just the kind of backstabbing little witch that would try to usurp his position if he turned his back on her.  “What I really need you to do is stop me from killing every last bloody idiot in this department,” he growled.<br/>	Eloyah stepped closer.  “If I can be frank, Sir: When was the last time you got laid?”</p><p>	Demon sex is like a dogfight but with more genitalia.  Generally speaking, both parties want to be on top, though if one demon outranks the other he or she will tend toward that position naturally.  There are a lot more teeth involved than humans might deem enjoyable, and biting is encouraged even in the most intimate places.  A battle of wills takes place as each tries to restrain the other with demonic energy, and being slammed into a wall or even ceiling is not unusual.  <br/>	For the most part, everyone leaves feeling satisfied, but there is one major flaw: Demons can’t really feel pleasure.  They can orgasm all day, but even the best demon sex somehow pales in contrast to the worst human sex.  It’s like touching a hot pan with oven mitts versus touching it with bare hands.  <br/>	Crowley was feeling particularly dissatisfied after his session with Eloyah, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how much better it would be with his angel.  Yes, Eloyah had better tits, and he’d have to be gentle with Marian and not just think about his own desires, but those things came rather naturally when he was under the influence of her angelic humanity.  He couldn’t recall feeling particularly ‘in love’ with any of his human partners when he’d been alive, not even the mother of his son—yes, she’d been attractive, but it was 1600’s Scotland attractive, and things like deodorant and toothpaste weren’t used by the lower classes yet.  She was also, to be frank, a bit of a cunt, but her father had land and she didn’t have many parasites, and as the town drunk she was the best he could get.  Marian, on the other hand, was just stubborn and feisty enough to be amusing; she knew angels were assholes; and she had a really nice ass.  More importantly, when he was with her he felt happy and loved and   <br/>As he straightened his tie and fixed his hair, he wondered whether killing Eloyah would feel better than fucking her.  But she was his best agent, and the hottest, and that would be such a waste.  He’d have to find someone else to kill—it wouldn’t be hard to find someone worthy, given the current aptitude of his employees.  <br/>	Before he could locate his next victim, however, he was met by one of the field agents he’d assigned to watch over Marian’s friends.<br/>	“My lord.  The hot girl and two of her hunter friends were on a witch hunt in Buffalo when they were taken by surprise.  The coven got to them before we could extract them, and they’re being held in a warded building.”<br/>	“How many in the coven?”<br/>	The demon swallowed.  “Seven, sir.”<br/>	“Shelly Anderson wouldn’t be one of them, would she?”<br/>	“Ah…Yes, sir.  Do you know—”<br/>	“I  her!” Crowley snapped.  “ the one giving her power.”  It had been long ago, before he’d become a crossroads demon.  He’d worked with witches mostly in an effort to create someone strong enough to kill his mother, but that endeavor had failed and he’d gone on to bigger and better things.  “What the hell is she doing warding from demons?  The only reason a witch would do that…”  He shook his head.  “Have any demons been killed in Buffalo recently?”<br/>	“Six.  We attributed their deaths to hunter interference, sir, but now—”<br/>	“She’s been drinking their blood to enhance her own power.  Whole coven’s probably feeding off them like damn vampires.”  Crowley growled, his eyes going red.  This bitch thought she could take advantage of him, and kill his demons—incompetent demons, but an important part of the sales force nonetheless—well, he’d set her straight.  And she just happened to have Marian’s best friend, too.  He could make this work.<br/>	“Sir?”<br/>	“Tell the boys to hold their positions, and be ready.  I’ll get the warding down, and then we move.  Get the dogs.”<br/>	“Yes sir.  How many dogs would you like?”<br/>	“All of them.”</p><p>	Marian nearly fell off her treadmill when Crowley showed up out of the blue in the middle of her workout.  <br/>	“Crowley?!”  She hit the ‘stop’ button and wiped the sweat off her face, trying to catch her breath.  In the last few weeks, she’d only talked with him a few times through the strange coin, which was mostly him checking in to make sure she was still alive, and let her know that  was still alive.  She wished he’d caught her when she wasn’t covered in sweat, her hair sticking out at odd angles and her face red with exertion— of course, but she’d hoped he’d at least show up  she’d showered.  <br/>	Crowley didn’t seem to mind, though.  He ported right in front of her, slid his arms around her, and gave her a deep and enthusiastic kiss.  “Gods, I missed you angel.  But I’m not here to visit; I need your help.”  He explained the predicament that the hunters had gotten into.<br/>	“You—you still have demons spying on my friends?”<br/>	“Of course, love.  So what do you say?  Get back in the game, one more time?”<br/>	“Yes.”  So what if it had been months since she’d done any real hunting?  Her friends needed her help.  <br/>	Crowley snapped his fingers and her sweaty workout clothes were replaced with her usual hunting clothes: Jeans, boots, and the ever-important flannel overshirt with the secret inner pockets.  She could feel the extra knife in her boot, the gun hidden inside the waistband of her pants, and every little gadget sewn into the liner of her shirt.  <br/>	“All you have to do is cross out the warding,” Crowley explained, handing her a can of black spray-paint.  “There are five symbols: Two outside the house, two in the basement, and one in the attic.  Once the fifth one is broken, I’ll get you out, and my men will take care of your friends.  If you run into trouble, there are witch-killing bullets in your gun.  You’ll also want these,” he said, pulling several hex bags out of his pockets and stuffing them into Marian’s.  They’ll protect you from most basic spells, but just…Try not to get yourself hexed.”<br/>	There was one last thing before they could leave.  Crowley had to carve the protective symbols into her chest and back that hid her grace from supernatural entities.  He worked quickly, caring more about how long it was taking versus how much it hurt, but Marian wasn’t going to fault him for that (even though it did hurt like a son of a bitch).  </p><p>	Crowley ported them to a stand of trees at the edge of the house’s lawn.  A handful of demons were lurking nearby, waiting for her to destroy the warding.  Marian crept forward, slinking along the side of the house, and sprayed over the exterior symbols.  She could hear people talking inside, but didn’t see anyone through the windows—maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.  The back door was even unlocked for her.  <br/>	Once inside, she drew her gun and headed upstairs.  The attic stairs were hidden at the end of a hallway, through what looked like a closet door.  No one was up there, or on the second floor at all.  That did not bode well for the last two wards.<br/>	A little lurking by the basement door confirmed that the witches and her captive friends were all down below with the remaining wards.  There would be no sneaking around to take care of these: She’d have to face the witches head-on, with a gun and a can of spray-paint, leaving herself and the others vulnerable in the process.  If she gave up and headed back to Crowley, her friends would die.  She’d just have to make a go of it.  Like old times.<br/>	Someone was coming up the stairs.  Marian slid back behind the door and crouched down just as it swung open.  A middle-aged woman stepped out and headed toward the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her.  Adrenaline rising, Marian slid around through the open door and peered down into the basement.  She could hear the voices clearly now, and they sounded upset.  <br/>	“It’s same-day shipping, it’s not instant!  They have to take the stuff out of the warehouse, put it on a truck, and—”<br/>	“I know how it works, I just—I wish we knew how long it was going to take.  This is boring.”<br/>	“Wanna do something else?”<br/>	“I want to eat!”<br/>	“I know.  I’m starving.”<br/>	“We wouldn’t have to wait if you hadn’t used the last one on that demon!”<br/>	“I needed it!  He was a nasty piece of work!”<br/>	“Shelley could’ve taken him.”<br/>	“Shelley could’ve taken him because she’s drunk more blood than any of us put together.  That’s the only reason.”<br/>	“She has been a little selfish.”<br/>	“She’s in charge.”<br/>	“Still, though…”<br/>	“Hey!” the woman from the kitchen shouted.  Marian nearly had a heart attack.  “We’re out of spring rolls, how do you feel about pizza bagels?”<br/>	“Fine!”<br/>	“Yes, anything edible!”<br/>	She breathed a sigh of relief: She hadn’t been discovered.  There was an electronic beep and whir as the microwave turned on, and the witches in the basement settled into a light discussion on which easy snack foods they enjoyed the most.  It was time for her to make her move.<br/>	There was no good way to sneak down a flight of stairs.  The people below her would always be able to see her before she could see them.  The solution, she’d found, was not to sneak at all, but to move obviously and deliberately, which tended to throw people off.  She descended as quickly as she could, pivoting at the bottom toward the sound of the chattering women.  There were three, gathered around a respectfully laid-out body, and behind all of them were her three friends, each bound to a separate support post, their mouths gagged.  <br/>	“That was fast,” one of the witches said.  Then all of them looked up at once, and their expressions dropped from hungry expectation to surprise.  <br/>	“Who the Hell are you?  How did you get in here?” another snapped.<br/>	“I’m a fucking Girl Scout,” Marian growled, aiming the gun at the witch’s head.  She glanced around the room and spotted one of the wards.  If she shuffled to the side just a little, she’d be able to reach it.  “Wanna buy some cookies?”<br/>	All three laughed. <br/>	“You must be here to rescue your little hunter friends,” the first witch said.<br/>	“They killed Alice,” Witch #2 said, gesturing to the corpse.  “We’re just waiting on a little item for our spell, and then they can help us bring her back.  It’s only fair.”   <br/>	Marian took a step to the side.  Witch #3 sighed.  “Look, if I wasn’t so fucking starving I’d drag this out for the fun of it, but we’re going to have pizza rolls in two minutes, so I’m just going to kill you now.  Suffocati.”  She blew a bit of what looked like flour at her face: Marian coughed, brushing it away, and felt one of the hex bags in her pocket get hot.  <br/>	She entirely failed to suffocate.<br/>	“Okay,” Marian growled, “Here’s how this is going to go—”<br/>	“SHELLEY!” Witch #2 screeched.<br/>	“Shit.”  Marian fired at the witches while lunging toward the offending warding.  She hit one on the shoulder.  As the witches shrieked in fury and scrambled to find cover and arm themselves, she spray-painted over the symbol.  <br/>	The one named Shelley stormed down the basement stairs, but she’d forgotten the Rule of Going Downstairs Under Enemy Fire and Marian shot her in the leg.  She fell the rest of the way to the floor and Marian took the resulting moment of chaos to run toward her captive friends.  She just had to get past the other witches first.<br/>	She was too close to her friends now to use the gun without risk of hitting one of them, so she holstered the weapon and reached for her knife.  It wouldn’t kill a witch, but it would still hurt like a bitch and would buy her some time.  <br/>	“Ignis!” a witch shouted, flicking what smelled like lighter fluid onto her.  Marian brought the knife up across the witch’s face, slashing her cheek open.  Surprised, the witch stumbled back, and Marian pile-drived her to the ground, knocking one of the others over in the process.  The witch shoved her away and she scrambled to her feet, only to find her shirt was on fire.  She dropped and rolled, but the flames only grew stronger and began to spread; by the time she realized they weren’t going to be extinguished by normal means, the two uninjured witches were on either side of her.  <br/>	“Stag—” one of them began.<br/>	Marian grabbed a hex bag out of her pocket, which was currently on fire, and flung it at the speaker.  The woman caught it reflexively, then her eyes widened in horror as the fire spread from the bag and raced up her arm.  At the same time, the fire assaulting Marian went out, as though she’d passed it along to the witch in a supernatural game of Hot Potato.  <br/>	She scooted backward as the witch’s friend attempted to extinguish her, first by hand and then with magic.  She reached her friends and cut the first of them free, handing the knife to Erica and grabbing another from her pocket.  <br/>	“You see that sigil?” she said, nodding to the warding on the wall behind them.  “I need to destroy it.  Are you good?”  <br/>	Erica nodded, moving to free the other two.  <br/>	Marian stood to move toward the wall, and was picked up off her feet and flung against the side wall, far from where she wanted to be.  Her breath was knocked out of her as her back slammed into the concrete.  Vision swimming, she looked up to see the witch she’d shot in the leg, leaning against a support beam as she held her in the air with her power.  It was then that she spotted the blood stains on the opposite end of the basement, covering part of a wall and the floor.  People had been slaughtered here.<br/>	Marian struggled as she felt an invisible hand close around her neck.  She threw another hex bag at the witch, but it bounced off her harmlessly:  she raised an eyebrow as if to say,  <br/>	She glanced at her friends, who were attempting to fight back against the other three with a total weapon supply of one knife.  They were, if anything, worse off than when she’d found them.  She looked at the sigil.  She felt the can of spray-paint in her hand.  She looked at her friends, locked in battle between Point A and Point B.<br/>	“DAVID!”<br/>	The witch he was fighting was much smaller than him, but that wasn’t stopping her from holding him up in the air by his neck.  He was kicking and cursing at her, but turned his head when Marian yelled.  She tossed the spray can as hard as she could (which wasn’t very hard, given the witch’s hold on her), and he caught it in a miraculous backhand save.  He brought it around like a weapon and struck his witch on the temple; as her grip faltered, he sprayed paint in her eyes, and she dropped him, stumbling back and pawing at her face.  He darted the rest of the way to the wall and drew a line through the warding.<br/>	The head witch Shelley was not impressed.  Marian was raised up and flung back again, slamming her head.  She was tossed all the way up into the ceiling, then slammed into the floor, and back up against the wall: she could feel her brain bounce against in her skull.  <br/>	“Screw the ceremony,” Shelley growled.  “We’ll find someone else to bring Alice back--we kill these fuckers now.”<br/>	The other witches shouted their approval at the new plan, and closed in on their prey.  Marian went to draw her gun, but found her entire body was now immobilized.  <br/>	“I don’t know who you are,” Shelley said as she stalked closer to her.  “I don’t really care.  You’re obnoxious, and I’m going to make you suffer.”  She twitched her hand, and a sharp pain bloomed along Marian’s spine, like someone was playing Jenga with her vertebrae, pulling each individual bone out of alignment.  She’d experienced back pain before, but this…This was so bad she knew she was either going to throw up or pass out or both.  She screamed.<br/>	“Miss Anderson.”  Crowley’s voice was calm.   calm.  “We need to talk.”<br/>	The witch’s face paled and her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly.  “Hello, Crowley.  I’d offer you a drink, but I’m in the middle of something here.  Would you mind coming back—”<br/>	“Put the hunter down.  Now.”<br/>	She seemed surprised by the request, but shrugged it off as the demon being his usual impatient self.  “Very well.”  She flicked her wrist again, popping another section of Marian’s spine out of place and earning herself a strangled scream, before cutting her flow of power off and letting her drop to the floor.  With her spine contorted, she was stuck in place.  Trying to move resulted in the sensation of her body ripping in half and her vision whiting out. <br/>	Crowley’s other demons appeared, staring down the other witches.  The hunters, tired and wounded from the recent melee, were released and eyed both parties with equal wariness.   <br/>	“What do you want?” Shelley asked.<br/>	“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” Crowley replied.  “Drinking demon blood?  I thought you were above that sort of thing.”<br/>	Shelley shrugged.  “It’s just a couple of grunts.  Less competition for you, right?”<br/>	“Ah, but see, here’s the thing: Hell’s not going to be happy about a witch, a witch <i> snuffing out foot soldiers.  Sets a nasty precedent, you see: If I let  play in the sandbox,  going to want to play in the sandbox, and the last thing Hell needs is a bunch of superpowered witches running amok.  To be honest, Hell doesn’t even  witches:  You’re freelancers, and hard to control.  Especially when you’re chugging demon juice like a cabernet sauvignon.”<br/>	“You’re right.  I am stronger.”  Her arm whipped around, and now Crowley was flung against the wall.  He didn’t look surprised:  His calm expression barely flickered at all.  “I’m stronger than ”<br/>	Suddenly the demon vanished.  Shelley blinked in confusion, then gasped as a witch-killing knife was driven through her shoulder from behind.  Crowley gripped her free shoulder, preventing her from turning or running.  <br/>	“I very much doubt that, darling,” he hissed into her ear.  “I  going to kill you and use your friends to set an example.  But you hurt the one person I care about in this whole bloody universe, and I can’t let that go.  So I’ve decided to give the lot of you to the  ladies I care about.”<br/>	Shelley panted heavily through the pain in her shoulder.  Her legs trembled, but she still struggled to free herself from Crowley’s grip.  She was confused, because the other demons in the basement were in male bodies.  For a moment she had to laugh—what was he going to do, sic his army of sex workers on them?  “What…What ladies…?”<br/>	Crowley whistled, and her blood ran cold.  It was the sort of whistle one used to call a dog, and there was only one kind of dog that Crowley kept.  She heard heavy, clawed feet running into the house, and the baying and growls of a pack of hellhounds.  The demon released her, shoving her toward the stairs as he removed the knife from her shoulder.  The stairs creaked and bent under invisible weight.  <br/>	“Good girls,” Crowley purred.  “Enjoy your new chew toys, ladies.  Make them last.”  <br/>	Shelley screamed as the first hound pounced on her; the other dogs made their way to the other witches, ignoring the demons and hunters.  They tossed the women around and played tug-of-war with them, acting like puppies with brand-new squeaky toys.  The witches tried hexing them, hitting them, and stabbing them, which the hellhounds thought was great fun.  They didn’t usually have toys that fought back.<br/>	“Get the humans out,” Crowley snapped to the other demons.  He would have liked to stay and watch the show, but Marian was in pain.  <br/>	Marian’s friends didn’t know what to think.  A moment ago they were fighting witches, and now there were demons and hellhounds running about.  Were they supposed to fight the demons now?  The demons didn’t look like they wanted to fight, but they also didn’t look particularly pleased with having to rescue the hunters.  And the hellhounds…Well, they could hear them, and things were getting smashed up, but they seemed to be focused on the witches.  <br/>	“It’s alright,” Marian said, raising her voice over the witches’ screams and hellhounds’ snarls.  She tried to sit up, but her body was having none of it.  Again, she had the sensation of being ripped in half, and then the lower half of her body went numb.  Shit—was she paralyzed?  She tested her leg—no, she could still move.  She tried to fix her position and the pain worsened: her vision narrowed and went white, and her ears started ringing.  “Go with them.”<br/>	She felt Crowley’s hand on her shoulder, and everything went black.</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25: Yes, he kissed the Pope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>                Marian woke with a jolt of pain.  She was lying flat on her stomach on a carpet, and someone had their hands on her back where her spine had been pushed and pulled out of alignment.  The hands were demon-hot and radiated the slight unpleasant tingle of demonic energy. </p><p>                “What’s taking so long?” David’s voice asked from somewhere on her right.</p><p>                “It’s an art, not a science,” Crowley grumbled from right above her.  “Ah.  Got it.” </p><p>                A single vertebra notched back into place.  It felt like someone had punched all the way through her back and out her stomach: Marian was pretty sure her entire body left the ground from the ensuing jolt of pain.  Reflexively, she tried to curl into herself, but the remaining damage to her back made it impossible. </p><p>                Crowley squeezed her shoulder.  “Try to stay still, angel.”</p><p>                “<em>Asshole</em>,” Erica muttered.</p><p>                “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to have a go?” the demon snapped.  “I’m reconfiguring bone and nerves, it’s going to hurt her!  Try it yourself, and you’ll end up paralyzing her at best.”</p><p>                But Erica wasn’t going to back down that easily.  She’d just spent a day being taunted by a coven of witches, and she had a lot of residual anger she hadn’t gotten out.  “This is what you &lt;<em>do</em>&gt;.  You hurt people.  It doesn’t even &lt;<em>matter&gt;</em> to you.  You don’t even care that you’re hurting her!”     </p><p>                Crowley was on his feet before she could blink, his eyes flaring into a murderous red.  “That’s a bold assumption, Abercrombie.  I’m not the bad guy here.”</p><p>                “<em>Crowley</em>,” Marian hissed through gritted teeth.  She understood that Erica was always going to fight with him, but did they have to fight <em>now</em>?  She was still in a lot of pain, and she really didn’t want to throw up on a rug that was one inch away from her face.  “<em>Erica.</em>”</p><p>                She opened the palm of her hand in invitation for Erica to grab it, hoping to hold her attention and keep it away from the demon.  Erica took the bait, grumbling under her breath, and Crowley’s hands returned to the protruded vertebrae in her back.  Though she couldn’t look up at them, she could feel them glaring daggers at each other. </p><p>                The remaining bones were slotted back into place one by one.  She still felt a bit sore and banged up, and she was fairly certain she’d gotten a concussion.  Crowley helped her to a seat on a small couch and sat down next to her, keeping his arm around her shoulders.  This really pissed off the others, especially Erica, who sat across from them on the edge of her seat and kept fiddling with a knife while they talked. </p><p>                “Where are we?” Marian asked, looking around the room.</p><p>                “You remember Tom Jefferson?  Helped us with those vampires back in Indiana?” David said.  “This is one of his places.  Hunters use it all the time if they’re working or just passing through.  It’s real close to the coven we were hunting.”</p><p>                Marian spent a few minutes catching up with her friends, trying to steer the conversation away from herself and Crowley.  Erica, however, was determined to steer them right back, thinking she was sticking up for her friend when she couldn’t stick up for herself.  Not helping matters was her concussion, which was making her sleepy.  She kept nodding off while the others were speaking, waking up when her head landed on Crowley’s shoulder.  Crowley radiated smugness while Erica glared daggers at him. </p><p>                She realized she had to be the one to suggest they leave.  Her friends didn’t want her to go but didn’t want Crowley to stay, understandably.  If Crowley said they had to leave, Erica would be up in arms, berating him for taking her away again: If Marian said it first, it would be harder to (no pun intended) demonize him. </p><p>                “I think I should head home,” she said quietly.  “I’m just gonna keep falling asleep on you guys.  Freakin’ witch hit my head too many times.”</p><p>                Erica looked a little betrayed and a little relieved.  She was evidently excited at the prospect of getting farther away from the king of the crossroads.  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”</p><p>                Marian smiled.  “I’ll be fine.  I always am.”</p><p> </p><p>                She was able to stay awake long enough to change and wipe some of the blood off her face, but she felt like a narcoleptic, about to pass out when she stayed still for longer than a few seconds.  But when she laid down to actually sleep, her head started pounding and she felt like the room was tilting sideways:  feeling nauseous, she sat back up. </p><p>                Crowley sat down next to her and motioned for her to turn toward him.  “It’s worse when you lie down?”</p><p>                She nodded.  He stared into her eyes, which was a little unsettling, then asked her to look in different directions and had her follow a pen light. </p><p>                “You’ve been hit on the head a lot, haven’t you,” he said, pressing his palm to her forehead.  She felt the pins-and-needles tingle of his energy, but she felt no different when he removed his hand.  He looked into her eyes again and scowled.  “Hmm.  I thought that would work.  I guess there are some things I can’t fix.” </p><p>                He adjusted his position so that he was leaning back slightly against a plush throne of pillows and slid his arm around her, pulling her into his side.  She was able to rest her head comfortably on his shoulder, remaining upright but still able to relax.  As she closed her eyes, Crowley pulled the blanket up to her shoulder.</p><p>                The demon felt unusually tense next to her, and kept fidgeting, drumming the fingers of his free hand against his leg.  Marian imagined that he must have work to get back to—some sort of clean-up regarding the witches, probably, plus all the usual crossroads stuff.  Or maybe he was upset that she’d ignored his orders to avoid trouble, fighting the witches without his help.  If they hadn’t been <em>her friends</em> there, she might have run back outside and asked him what Plan B was, but damnit they were her friends—she wasn’t going to leave their fates to chance.  Yes, she’d been out of the hunting scene for a while, but killing monsters was like riding a bike—you never lost the feel for it.  Right?  Confident in her decision, she was prepared to tell Crowley why he shouldn’t be mad at her (<em>he’s a salesman—you have to sell it, like a pitch.  The end result is that you got your witches, all your demons are fine; you’re fine, I’m fine; so mission accomplished.  Sure, it got a little hairy for a while, but when has a hunt ever gone as planned?)</em>. </p><p>                “You have to go back?” she asked. </p><p>                “No.  I have to make a call, but other than that I can stay here with you.”  He kissed the top of her head.  “I shouldn’t have asked you to go.”</p><p>                “You told me to go back if there was a problem.”</p><p>                “Hah.  I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.  You’re a bleeding heart--you’d do anything for your little friends.”  He shrugged.  “I could have found someone else—another human that owes me a favor, or one of the werewolves Lillith keeps on payroll.”</p><p>                “Why did you ask me, then?”</p><p>                “Because other people are idiots.”  He smiled as she chuckled.  “I sent you because I didn’t think I would be putting you in danger.  If I’d known they’d be camping out where the warding was, I never would have gone to you first.  I thought it would be a cakewalk for you, and then I could impress you by rescuing your friends.”</p><p>                Marian’s head raised cautiously, the movement slow enough to lessen the effect of the vertigo.  “You wanted to <em>impress</em> me?”</p><p>                “I’m always trying to impress you, angel.  You just have very high standards.  Or one standard, rather, which is ‘don’t be a demon.’”  He tapped her nose with his finger, like this was just some adorable personality flaw instead of a perfectly reasonable life model. </p><p>                She looked away from him, staring at her feet hidden under the blanket.  Crowley leaned into her, his breath hot on her ear as he added smugly: “But you still like me anyway.”</p><p>                A tingle started in her ear and ran down her neck and spine.  When she’d first made her deal with him, she would have written off such feelings as revulsion (and in the beginning that would have been correct), but now…</p><p>                She shivered, and the tingle dissipated.  She leaned away from him and his infernal smugness, stubbornly refusing to agree but unable to contradict him. </p><p>                She tilted her head as she leaned, and the vertigo returned with a vengeance, as if her inner ear had been removed and thrown in one of those Bingo cages where the balls bounce around.</p><p>                Crowley pulled her upright again, then sat her up against the back of the bed.  Her face had lost a little of its color, and most of her thought process had now turned to ‘<em>how do I not puke on myself?’</em>  He put a hand on either side of her head, and she tried to push him away, not wanting to throw up on him either.  He kept his hands in place, though, his palms lightly covering her ears. </p><p>                “I got it wrong last time,” he said.  “I know how to heal you now.”</p><p>                The feeling of demonic energy flowing through her ears and into her head was not pleasant.  It was like someone had taken an extra-long Q-tip, covered it in sandpaper, and lit it on fire before shoving it into her ear.  But when the feeling passed, so had her nausea and vertigo: He’d mojo’d her inner ear.    </p><p>                “Better?”</p><p>                She nodded. </p><p>                He kissed her forehead.  “I really do need to make that call.”  He kissed her again, on the mouth, feeling immensely pleased with himself when she didn’t tense up or try to back away.  Maybe he had impressed her, after all.  Or maybe she’d just been hit really hard on the head. </p><p>                Marian held her arm out to him, wrist facing up.  “You need blood?”  She was familiar with the concept of demonic phone calls: While Hell may have invented the long-distance plan, there was no plan long-distance enough to reach its depths, and demons relied on blood for communication. </p><p>                Crowley pressed his lips to her wrist.  He ran his tongue over her skin, tasting her.  For a moment she thought he was going to bite her: His teeth grazed her skin, but then he drew back. </p><p>                He had planned on using one of the witches’ corpses to make the call (he’d arranged for his hound Juliet to retrieve them for him), but fresher blood would work better.  “It would make things easier.  You don’t mind?”</p><p>                She shrugged, and tried to pretend that she hadn’t been just a <em>little </em>turned on by his kisses.</p><p>                Because she hadn’t.</p><p>                “You don’t need <em>that </em>much.  It’s fine.”</p><p>                In moments, Crowley had procured a knife and a bowl.  He cut across her wrist in one quick motion, so smoothly that her brain barely had time to register the bite of the knife.  When enough blood had trickled into the bowl, he healed the cut and ported down to his office to contact Hell. </p><p>               </p><p>                Marian stretched out on the bed, still feeling sore from getting tossed around by the witch.  She’d just managed to find a show that was at least semi-amusing: It was called “<em>Hunters of the Strange and Supernatural</em>,” and it looked about as real as any other Bigfoot-and-ghost-hunting show that had ever been made.  Three men with the videography skills of a golden retriever were touring America’s most haunted houses, investigating ‘cursed objects,’ and following leads on ‘monster sightings’ in rural towns.  The episode Marian had found showed the ‘hunters’ checking out a house that claimed not only to be haunted, but had <em>the</em> mirror made famous by Bloody Mary.  Marian happened to have seen the Bloody Mary mirror before, and this was not it, though someone had cleverly painted bloody handprints across the back of it.  She doubted the house was haunted at all, but it would be funny to see what these amateurs did in the face of a real ghost if it was. </p><p>                “That’s taken care of,” said Crowley, startling her as he appeared back in the room.  “I can go back to being Lilith’s least-despised demon for another day.”  He snapped his fingers and his suit was replaced by silk pajamas. </p><p>                He laid down next to her and slid his hand around the back of her neck, drawing her into a deep kiss.  Though she returned the kiss, her body remained tense, and she flinched when he ran his hand down her back to pull her closer. </p><p>                Crowley drew back, trying to read her mood.  “Should I leave you alone, angel?”</p><p>                She shook her head.  “I’m just…Really sore.  It’s been a while since I’ve been thrown into a ceiling, and now that the adrenaline’s worn off, I feel it.  Everywhere.”</p><p>                The demon’s face lit up: <em>She still wasn’t repulsed by him.  </em>Technically, it was his fault she was hurt, but he could fix that.  “Sounds like you’re in need of a full-body demonic massage,” he said, sitting up.  He gently pulled her shoulder down, rolling her onto her stomach, and pushed her shirt up to her shoulders. </p><p>                “I’ll be fine, honestly—”</p><p>                He circled his thumbs between her shoulder blades, releasing a soothing heat into her muscles as he moved.  “You’ve been so helpful to me,” he purred.  “Now let me take care of you.” </p><p>                Marian couldn’t think of argument against that, and his hands <em>did</em> feel good.  Their heat radiated past her skin, and she wondered if he was using some kind of demon mojo to warm and relax her bruised muscles.  His hands moved down along her spine, then out to the worst knots and bruises on the meatier parts of her back.  </p><p>                “What the devil are we watching?” he asked, noticing the crazy people on the TV. </p><p>                She laughed.  “Ghost hunters.”</p><p>                “They’re going to get themselves killed.  Well, not <em>there</em>, obviously; that’s fake, but still…Oh, look at that!”</p><p>                Marian picked her head up and looked at the screen.  The men had uncovered a real summoning circle for demons.  “Oh.”</p><p>                “This could get interesting.”</p><p>                “I doubt they’d show it on air if they actually got killed by a demon,” Marian said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.  It wasn’t that she <em>wanted</em> to see anyone killed, but the show should be a <em>little </em>more exciting than three men spooking each other with their own EMF machines (which were crap EMF readers, by the way—she’d tried out the ones they used on the show, and they were better at picking up a microwave than a ghost). </p><p>                “<em>You know what this is, boys</em>?” one of the hunters said.  “<em>It’s a pentagram!”</em></p><p>                “Really,” Marian scoffed.  “And that thing in your hand is a video camera.”</p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “I never pictured you as one of those elitist snob hunters.”</p><p>                “What?  I’m not!  Look, if you’re gonna make a show about something, you should know what you’re talking about.  You shouldn’t be surprised by everything that happens to you.”</p><p>                He finished with her back and she pulled her shirt back down.  She was about to sit back up when he grabbed her leg. </p><p>                “What—”</p><p>                Crowley dug the heel of his hand into her hamstrings, moving from the base of her ass down to the back of her knee.  She bit her hand to stop from screaming at him, but a pitiful whine still managed to escape her throat.  She probably should have stretched more often—the backs of her legs were always super tight, which made ironing them out super painful. </p><p>                “I’m fine—”</p><p>                “Yes, you said that before.  You really should stretch more.”  He repeated the motion, dragging his hand down the top half of her leg.  It was less painful this time, but still unpleasant.  He brought his hand up again, but this time he dug in with his thumbs, making little circles all the way down, and releasing that soothing sauna heat into her muscles.  It felt…Not bad.</p><p>                Then her found her I-band.</p><p>                “<em>Shit.”</em></p><p>                “Do you really not stretch <em>at all?</em>” Crowley asked, calmly holding her down with one hand as she attempted to twist onto her side so he couldn’t reach it. </p><p>                She stopped struggling when she realized he wasn’t going to give up.  Each time he ran his hand over the long band of tissue, it was less painful.  “I think you just like torturing me.”</p><p>                “It wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d taken better care of yourself.” </p><p>                “Have you ever known a hunter to take care of themselves?”</p><p>                “Absolutely not.”  He moved on to her calf, and she breathed a sigh of relief.  Then: “Bloody hell, they’re really going for it.”</p><p>                Marian turned her attention back to the TV.  The ghost hunters had found a summoning incantation, the page ominously spattered with blood, and one of them was now stumbling through the Latin phrases as if he were reading a stranger’s grocery list aloud, as opposed to calling upon a twisted soul from the bowels of Hell.  His pronunciation wasn’t great, but it was clear enough that Marian could understand the words, which meant they might actually work.  He paused frequently to confer with his buddies about what the words might mean, looking dramatically to the camera when they discovered words like ‘death,’ ‘demon,’ and ‘blood,’ as if there was any other kind of language to be found in a room with a bloody pentagram on the floor.  For the most part, though, the men had no idea what the spell actually said. </p><p>                They found a bowl with some old chicken bones, an owl skull, and some half-burned sage, along with another bloody sheet of paper that claimed to be “Instructions for Summoning a Demonic Spirit.”  In the spirit of doing anything for television, the men decided to reenact the ritual ‘to see what may have occurred here years ago.’ </p><p>                Marian sat up.  “No one is this stupid.”</p><p>                Crowley gave her a sidelong glance.  “Please.  <em>Everyone</em> is this stupid.”</p><p>                He shifted so that he was sitting behind her, and rubbed her shoulders while they watched the show, now fascinated by the level of naïve idiocy before them.  On the TV, one of the men cut himself, splashing a few drops of blood over the old bones.  His buddy lit the sage on fire, and the third man recited the Latin spell again in full, much smoother the second go around. </p><p>                The man who’d lit the sage—call him Lighter Man—stood inside the summoning circle as his friend spoke.  He seemed to have no idea of the danger he could be in. </p><p>                “There’s no way—” Marian started to say, but cut herself off when the camera cut out.</p><p>                The picture came back quickly, and it was hard to tell if it had been a problem with the camera itself or with the TV signal.  The bowl was no longer on fire, and the Lighter Man looked dazed, like he’d just woken up.  He looked straight at the camera, and for just a moment his eyes flickered black. </p><p>                “Is everyone okay?” one of the men asked.  There were more papers on the floor, and Marian guessed that there’d been some sort of commotion when the camera had cut out.  “Gosh, that was weird.”</p><p>                “I’m fine,” the other replied, dusting off his pants.  “Can you see it?”</p><p>                “No, no demons here,” said the first, revealing a critical lack of insight on his part.  “You okay, Dave?” he asked Lighter Man.  “You look like you seen a ghost.”</p><p>                Lighter Man—Dave—blinked slowly, turning his head from one man to the other.  He stretched his arms, then his back, moving unsteadily and stiffly, like the Tin Man from Oz.  His mouth moved for a few seconds before he answered. </p><p>                “Yes.  Everything is fine.”</p><p>                His friends looked at him with concern, then glanced uneasily at the cameraman. </p><p>                Dave cleared his throat and smacked his lips, like he wasn’t used to having them.  He cocked his head to the side, like he was listening to something the others couldn’t hear, then straightened.  “I’m alright, boys,” he said, sounding more like himself.  “Just gave myself a start, that’s all.  Coulda sworn I saw somethin’ come out of the circle, but that’s crazy.  Hah hah.  There’s obviously nothing now.  Guess this whole setup was a dud.”</p><p>                The other men relaxed visibly as Dave returned to his usual self.  “Heh.  Yeah.  Maybe the bones were too old.”</p><p>                “Or maybe you can’t speak Latin worth a damn.”</p><p>                “Or <em>maybe</em> it was just some punk kids messin’ around, and they ate some chicken wings and spray-painted some graffiti and copied a bunch of Latin from their homework.  Kids love to mess around in haunted houses.”</p><p>                “Yep.”</p><p>                “Sure do.”  The men nodded their agreement. </p><p>                All three turned toward the camera.  “Thanks for watching, and we’ll see you next time!”</p><p>                “What—” Marian began, but a credit screen popped up. </p><p>                &lt;<em>In memoriam of Robert Hemford and Joe Silnak, beloved hunters of the strange and supernatural.&gt;</em></p><p>                Crowley burst out laughing.  “That son of a bitch!  I wondered what he’d gotten up to!”</p><p>                Marian turned to look at him.</p><p>                “The demon they released—name of Aggron.  He vanished from Hell about a month ago—must have been when they filmed this.  Evidently, he killed Dave’s buddies—they probably noticed he was acting strange once things settled down, or they found him pulling bodies apart in his basement, it’s always something.  I wonder if he’s still running around in that meat-suit?”</p><p>                “Were you friends with him?”</p><p>                “Demons don’t do ‘friends.’  He wasn’t an enemy, though—he worked in Intake, so he wasn’t competition.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Intake is fun: you get to decide what punishment each soul gets, and tell them all about it…Anticipation can be worse than the punishment itself.  Plus, all the souls are new and have no idea what to expect.  They’re <em>terrified.</em>  The worse a person was in life, the more terrified they are once they get to Hell.  Hitler cried like a baby for <em>weeks</em>, and they hadn’t even touched him.” </p><p>                Marian didn’t particularly feel like hearing about Hell and its politics, but she liked the idea of bad people being punished.  She moved so that she was behind Crowley and dug her hands into his shoulders, hoping to return the favor and give him a back massage while he talked. </p><p>                Crowley moved faster than she would have thought possible.  He spun and grabbed her wrists, holding them painfully tight as he threw her onto her back.  One knee pressed into her ribs, pushing the air out of her lungs.  His eyes burned red, and she could see his true demonic face behind the façade of the human body he wore. </p><p>                “<em>What do you think you’re doing?” </em>he snarled.</p><p> </p><p>                As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Crowley knew he’d fucked up.  He’d felt hands on the back of his neck and acted instinctively, which was the only way a demon could act if it wanted to stay alive.  <em>Of course</em> it was only Marian.  But his mind had been elsewhere, thinking about—well, &lt;<em>demons&gt;</em>—demons that either wanted to kill him or wouldn’t be disappointed if he died.  And so he’d reacted.  And now Marian was giving him that kicked-puppy look, and he felt…Well, he felt like an asshole.  Up until this moment in his life, being a complete dick had been a matter of pride (as it should be for any demon), but now he felt <em>bad</em> about it. </p><p>                He released her and sank back on his heels.  “I’m sorry, angel; I didn’t mean…It’s just that usually, when someone comes up behind me…”</p><p>                Marian rolled onto her side, pulling her knees up to her chest, and rubbed her wrists.  She nodded that she understood, but felt like she would either cry or scream if she opened her mouth to respond.  It had been so long since she’d seen his true face, she’d almost forgotten he really was just as demonic as every other twisted soul in Hell.  <em>And you fell for all his little charms.</em></p><p>                <em>Well.  You did get kicked out of Heaven; what did you expect?</em></p><p>                “Marian?”</p><p>                “It’s fine.  I get it.”  She sounded like someone else, someone smaller and more afraid--someone who didn’t run into houses full of witches, or raid vampire nests.  “You just…Scared me.” </p><p>                “I know.  I’m sorry.”  He took her wrists, gently this time, and she felt that warm, tingly energy run through her, alleviating any lingering soreness he’d caused.  He continued to hold onto her hands, like he was afraid to let go of her.  That was the first time she’d touched him voluntarily, and now…</p><p>                Marian sniffed, the corner of her mouth twitching up and threatening to smile.  “I’ve never heard you apologize to anyone.”</p><p>                “Oh, I’m not <em>that</em> stubborn.  I’ve said I was sorry before; matter of self-preservation.  This is just the first time I’ve meant it.  I genuinely didn’t mean to scare you.  I would love to have your hands on me all the time.”  He kissed her hand, and she tried very hard not to picture <em>that face</em>, a visage that would make a normal human piss themselves in terror.  The face that reminded her, <em>you’re with a demon that wants to knock you up with a prophesized nuclear weapon.  There is no part of this that you should be okay with. </em></p><p>                She felt that some sort of coherent response was expected of her, but all she could muster was a pathetic high-pitched whine, furthering the sad puppy aesthetic.  She hazarded a glance up at Crowley, and he looked perfectly normal and human.  He looked puzzled; concerned, even; and damn it, she did like him when he acted human.  The problem was, there were two sides to him: The real side, the one that had been tortured in Hell for ages, turned into a demon, and now routinely killed and tortured others as a matter of course, and made deals for souls; and the side that was an act, where he looked human and felt human things and was willing to do anything to make Marian happy, because the only thing he wanted more than success was to be loved…</p><p>                It was a good act, to be fair.  Maybe she should just let herself fall for it.  She basically had already, hadn’t she?  But he was still a demon, he was still dangerous.  This was the same Crowley that had threatened to destroy everything she loved unless she sold herself to him.</p><p>                Though, to be honest, it hadn’t been that bad.</p><p>                “Demon,” she said quietly.</p><p>                Crowley tilted his head.  He wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or to him.  “Demon?” he repeated, hoping she’d elaborate.</p><p>                “I can’t normally see you,” she admitted, her voice rising a little.  “I can’t normally see demons at all.  Just…Sometimes, like out of the corner of my eye.  I can kind of remember what they look like from—from when I was an angel, but that whole life is…It’s watered down, like trying to remember a dream.  It’s easy to forget that you’re really…You.  You’re not this…”  She waved a hand vaguely, searching for the right words.  “Cuddly, romantic salesman who gives back rubs when he’s not busy torturing people—”</p><p>                “Sure I am.”</p><p>                “But—” Marian sat up, shaking her head.  “But none of that’s <em>real</em>, Crowley.  It’s just an act.  It’s a sales pitch, because you need me.” </p><p>                “The only one who’s <em>acting</em> here is you,” Crowley snapped back.  “You think you failed as an angel, and you’re afraid that if you admit to yourself that you have feelings for me, you’ll have failed as a human, too.”  His expression softened.  “But you didn’t fail as an angel.  The angels failed <em>you</em>—they failed <em>everybody,</em> trying to start another one of their damned apocalypses, all because Daddy never taught them to play nice with his things.”</p><p>                Marian blinked. </p><p>                “And now you think, ‘what does it say about me that I’ve come to care for a demon—one of the lowliest beings in all of Creation, according to the angels?  Because obviously the angels know everything.’”</p><p>                The ex-angel fidgeted uneasily, but Crowley pressed on:</p><p>                “Speaking as one of the damned: If you can look at what I am and what I’ve done and still find empathy and compassion--for something not even God could love—I’d say that makes you stronger, not weaker.  That bloke on the cross—Jesus—I think he’d agree.  You aren’t falling farther from Heaven: Hell, you’re too good for Heaven, but then you know how I feel about that lot up there.”  He sighed.  “But I’m just a demon; what do I know?”</p><p>                Marian blinked again.  It seemed to be all she was capable of.  She tried opening her mouth to speak, but she had nothing to say.  His words swam around in her head, and she had to take them one at a time, like she was deciphering ancient Babylonian.  A demon had just told her that she was a good person.  He had made what sounded like a good argument. </p><p>But he was a demon. </p><p>                Yes, she had a lot of compassion.  It had gotten her kicked out of Heaven.  Because she’d chosen compassion over duty, over following their asinine orders.  She was a bad soldier. </p><p>                But maybe being a bad soldier made her a good person. </p><p>                But Crowley was clever, and he <em>was</em> a salesman—he could sell ice to an Eskimo, wasn’t that a saying?  Hell, he probably <em>had,</em> at some point in his career.  He was good at telling people what they wanted to hear.</p><p>                But he sounded <em>right.</em></p><p>                Crowley’s brows knit together.  He seemed to have broken his angel: She hadn’t moved, had barely breathed, and her face had gone completely blank. </p><p>                “Angel?”</p><p>                Nothing.</p><p>                “Marian.”</p><p>                Her eyes finally focused on him.  “Hmm?”</p><p>                “Are you alright?”</p><p>                “What?  Yes, fine.”  She rubbed the back of her neck.  “Just…Never mind.”</p><p>                Crowley waited for her to elaborate, but she seemed stuck inside her head.  He wondered if she was actually considering what he’d said or if she’d just shut down completely.  Maybe she was still dealing with her concussion. Either way, there was no point in trying to push her any further right now.  “Get some sleep, love.  You’ve had a long day.”</p><p>                She nodded.  The concussion must be preventing her from thinking clearly.  She’d feel better in the morning.  She slid back to the head of the bed and curled up under the covers, waiting for the demon to join her.  When he vanished a moment later she started to panic—had she finally managed to offend him?  But he returned almost instantly, carrying a massive pile of paperwork.  He sat down next to her, setting the pile on the nightstand.  Marian relaxed and pressed her back against his legs.</p><p>Crowley shut off the TV and the lights with a snap (he could read just fine in the dark) and picked up the first document: “1987 deals, projected vs actual.”  <em>Fantastic,</em> he thought glumly.  He didn’t even need to go to Hell to be miserable: Hell had come to him.  The reports were important, in the same way that flossing was important: It was necessary for the overall health of things, but nobody wanted to do it, and it certainly wasn’t glamorous. </p><p>                The report was divided by country, and the more lucrative countries were then divided by state, province, or region.  America always had the most sales, and was divided by state and, in some cases, cities (New York, LA).  Less active areas were often grouped together: For example, Luxembourg was considered part of the French market, and African countries, excluding Egypt and South Africa, were managed in groups based on primary spoken language.  Demons would be given assigned territories, and they chose meat-suits that would appeal to their given population.  A few regional ‘sales managers’ would oversee multiple demons, and then Crowley was in charge of all of them. </p><p>                &lt;Alabama State.  Primary sales consultant: Ferrous.  Projected sales for 1987: 50.  Actual sales: 43.  Alaska State.  Primary sales consultant: Urus.  Projected sales for 1987: 45.  Actual sales: 21.  Arkansas State.  Primary Sales Consultant: Jerry.  Projected sales: 20.  Actual sales: 12.&gt;</p><p>                Things were not looking good thus far.  Lillith was going to roast his ass.  But things improved farther down the report, with the high-traffic states: Florida was up by 23 souls, LA was up by 50, and New York City was up by a whopping 62 over the projected number of deals.  Crowley had done many of them himself. </p><p>                Numbers were up in Brazil, Australia, and India.  Projections for Europe were almost spot-on.  Canada was down, but it had never been a big soul-producer anyway. </p><p>                Marian rolled over, and he realized she was awake.  He set the report down, welcoming any distraction from his work.</p><p>                “Can’t sleep?”</p><p>                She shook her head.</p><p>                He wondered if not being able to dream was starting to affect her.  He’d have to deal with that at some point, but maybe not right now.  “You’re in luck.  I have the cure for insomnia right here: Sales reports.”</p><p>                Marian yawned.  “Are you going to hit me on the head with it?”</p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “No.  I’m going to read you a—a bedtime story.”  That was a thing, right?  It sounded like a thing.  He skipped through the annual report to the list of individual deals.  “Arthur Clark of Boulder, Colorado, sold his soul to cure his daughter of Leukemia.  Doris Baker of Gary, Indiana, sold her soul to win a seat in the Senate when the current Senator passed away unexpectedly.  Carrie Grant of Providence, Rhode Island, made a deal to carry out a series of increasingly torturous punishments on her ex-husband and her best friend, after she found out they were having an affair.  She starts with having them contract a litany of venereal diseases and ends with ‘accidental’ dismemberment and/or disembowelment, demon’s choice.  That’s fun.  Anthony Edwards of Miami, Florida, sold his soul for a twelve-inch dick.  Amelia—”</p><p>                “Wait, what?”  Marian raised her head, trying to look at the paper. </p><p>                “What?”</p><p>                “People really sell their souls for…Body enhancement?  Bigger boobs, bigger dicks?”</p><p>                “Sure.  All the time,” Crowley said. </p><p>                “But that’s insane!  An eternity in Hell, because you can’t afford a boob job?  And who actually &lt;wants&gt; a dick that big?  It just seems impractical—you’d just hurt anyone you slept with.  Unless you wanted a job in porn—”</p><p>                “Nobody’s perfect.”  He was starting to feel defensive about his own deal.  Although, she was right—twelve was excessive.  The bloke thought adding more inches would improve his self-esteem, but as Crowley knew, anything over ten was just overkill. </p><p>                Marian settled back down.  “Did you make a deal?  Is that why you’re a demon?”</p><p>                “I would’ve ended up like this anyway, to be honest.  I was a drunk and a terrible father, but it was 17<sup>th</sup> century Scotland—life wasn’t exactly sunshine and roses.  My mother was a witch—very good, very clever, and completely heartless.  She didn’t exactly set me up for success.  But yes, I made a crossroads deal.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.”</p><p>                She wanted to ask him about it, but he’d seemed rather defensive about her judging people’s deals.  Instead, she asked: “Were you happy at least, with your deal?  Was it worth it?”</p><p>                He thought for a while.  “…I must have been.  It’s funny--I can remember all sorts of unpleasant things from before: My mother beating me, my mother telling me I was worthless, my wife telling me I was worthless, my wife dying in childbirth, my son telling me I was worthless…But everything good…Fades away when I try to think of it.”  He gave her a reassuring smile.  “The whole human thing isn’t important, though.  That man died ages ago.”</p><p>                “…Oh.”  What was she supposed to say to that?  “I’m…Sorry to bother you, I know you’re trying to work.”</p><p>                “Nonsense.  You’re saving me from hours of mindless torture.”  He slid down so that he was lying next to her.  “Besides, you sleep better when I’m holding you.” </p><p>                Marian felt her face heat up.  He was right: She’d gotten so used to being with him, she’d practically forgotten how to exist without him.  She’d even acclimated to the hellish heat that radiated from him. </p><p>                She pressed her back into him.  He spent a moment brushing her hair out of his face, then wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, as if she might run away if he let go. </p><p>                <em>I touched him voluntarily.  Well, tried to, and he snapped, </em>she thought, thinking back on the attempted shoulder rub.<em>  He </em>touched her all the time—there was hardly a moment with him without him <em>right there</em>, it seemed—and in the beginning, at least, she had taken every opportunity to gain some distance from him.  She had cleaned him up when he’d been stabbed, but that was just first-aid; it wasn’t <em>caring</em>.  She’d tried very hard to avoid any gesture that might show she cared for him, which meant that he initiated all contact between them, and she tried not to enjoy any of it. </p><p>                Now, the one time she tried to do something nice, he flipped out.  She understood why—if everyone on Hell and Earth was potentially there to kill <em>her</em>, she wouldn’t want people grabbing her from behind either.  She’d have to be careful going forward, making sure he knew exactly where she was and what she was doing.  Maybe there was still a way to show him that she cared <em>just a little</em>.  Because he was right—she was only lying to herself, pretending she didn’t want to be with him.  It was some sort of Stockholm Syndrome taken to the extreme or whatnot; but she was only making herself crazy trying to convince herself it wasn’t real. </p><p>                Moving slowly and deliberately, as if she were about to pet a wild animal, she brushed her hand across the demon’s forearm, sliding her fingers from his elbow to his wrist.  He tensed at first, his hold on her tightening almost painfully.  She let out the smallest whine as she struggled to breathe, and his arm relaxed.  She threaded her fingers through his, which seemed to confuse him.</p><p>                “What’s wrong, angel?”</p><p>                “Nothing’s wrong.  I just…Wanted to hold your hand.”</p><p>                Several seconds passed while he decided if he’d heard her correctly.  “…What?”</p><p>                “Sorry, is that weird?” she asked, suddenly feeling ridiculous.  He was a demon: Spooning was one thing, but hand-holding was probably too sappy and human for him.  She went to pull her hand away, but Crowley’s fingers locked around hers, stopping her. </p><p>                “No.  This is…Nice.”  He relaxed his grip, and she kept her hand on his.  “Go to sleep, angel.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>                He wasn’t, though.  Marian sat up and looked around the room: the clock said 7:15 am.  She’d slept in: Crowley was usually back from work by 6, or 7 at the latest.  He must have run into trouble: she only hoped it was the paperwork kind of trouble and not the other kind.  She thought about <em>really</em> sleeping in, passing out again until he came back, but her unease at his absence prevented her.  She could try contacting him through the coin, but if he was in a meeting or negotiating a deal, he might not be able to respond to her.  If he was in trouble, he might not be able to respond to her, either.</p><p>                She shook her head.  Crowley was the cleverest, most devious demon she knew: If there was trouble, he was more likely to be the cause of it than anything.  Still, she fiddled with the coin as she changed and showered, half expecting him to blink into existence at any moment, or at least be in her room when she got out of the shower.  But her room remained empty.</p><p>                Increasingly paranoid that something had gone wrong, but still trying to tell herself otherwise, Marian nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the sound of glass clinking in the kitchen below her.  It <em>could</em> be Crowley, but why hadn’t he stopped by her room to check in with her first?  What if he’d been killed, and another demon had found her?  She grabbed her angel blade and crept down the stairs as silently as possible.  Rounding the corner through the empty living space, she halted just outside the kitchen doorway, feet carefully avoiding the squeakiest floorboards.</p><p>                “It’s alright, angel; it’s me,” Crowley called through the door.</p><p>                Marian stepped around the corner, sheathing her blade.  She’d forgotten just how crazy-good demons’ hearing could be.  “What are you doing down—oh.”</p><p>                He was leaning against the counter, a glass of scotch on one side of him and a first aid kit on the other.  His hands were covered in blood, as were a number of kitchen towels he’d thrown in the sink.  The remains of his shirt and jacket were draped over the back of a chair: His bare chest and arms were littered with cuts and bruises.  The cuts were deep, and had been made with angel blades.  She could see his demonic essence shining through some of them.  One of his eyes was blackened and swollen almost shut, and his nose was crooked and bloody.</p><p>Currently, he was stitching up a gash on his shoulder, but he was struggling with the angle.  “Sorry I’m late.  Evidently, angels <em>will</em> take offense if you make a deal with the Pope.”</p><p>                “You tried to make a deal with the Pope?!”</p><p>                “I didn’t ‘try,’ love.  I <em>did.</em>  I’m not King of the Crossroads for nothing.”</p><p>                “You.  Made a deal.  With the Pope,” she said slowly.  It was actually impressive, she thought.  “So you were ambushed by angels?  How many were there?”</p><p>                Crowley hauled the first aid kit and his drink over to the table and sat down.  “Four.”</p><p>                “How are you not dead?!”</p><p>                “What can I say?  I’m the best.”  He coughed, spraying blood out of his mouth.  “Though, to be honest, they damn near succeeded.”</p><p>                Marian pulled up a chair beside him and grabbed a needle and thread.  “Where do I even start?”</p><p>                “Ah.  Well, you can have your pick: Chest, shoulder, back, arm, stomach, or thigh.”  He turned to show her the cut on his back, just below his neck. </p><p>                “Which one is the worst?”</p><p>                “That would be thigh.”  An angel blade had sliced through his pants, but there was so much blood that Marian couldn’t get a good look at the wound.  “It goes all the way through.”</p><p>                <em>It goes all the way through.</em>  “Okay.  Yeah.  Let’s start with that.”</p><p>                She didn’t look at him while he took his pants off.  She’d been naked or mostly naked in front of him quite a bit, but he’d always been fully dressed.  Hopefully he wouldn’t make any sexual remarks, but it was Crowley, after all. </p><p>                Marian understood why he always wore a suit: Crowley was much less intimidating in his underwear.  Granted, he was also covered in blood and looked like he’d been through Hell—well, Heaven, she supposed—but despite the demonic glow seeping through the deepest wounds, he also looked more human. </p><p>                She folded a towel under his thigh, where the angel blade had driven all the way through his quad muscle into his hamstring.  She tried to wipe the blood off his quad so she could see what she was doing, but there was so much of it—why was he bleeding so much?  It must have something to do with the angel blade, and how its power worked on demons.  She wiped her hands off and threaded the needle, but his skin was so slick with blood that she couldn’t stitch him up properly. </p><p>                “Damn!”</p><p>                “It’s alright, angel; I can do it.”  Crowley took the needle, but his own hand was bloody, and it was also shaking.  “Damn,” he said, and coughed up more blood.  “This is my favorite meat-suit.”</p><p>                Marian tried to wipe more blood away while she thought.  “Could you possess someone else while your, um, meat-suit heals?”</p><p>                “It won’t heal without me in it.  I suppose I could possess a live meat-suit for a bit, which would help <em>me</em> heal.  And while I’m not in <em>this</em> suit, most of the bleeding should stop, and I’ll be able to stitch it up.”  He coughed again, wheezed, and leaned back in his chair.  “Don’t know how far I’ll get right now, though.  We’re miles from anywhere.  I suppose I could find…A rat, or something, and…On second thought, I think I should stay here.”</p><p>                Crowley picked up the needle again, but his hand was still too shaky.  Marian took it from him and started to work on his arm, which was a smaller and more manageable cut. </p><p>                “But a live vessel would help you?”</p><p>                “Yes.  Right now, I’m losing energy healing both myself and my meat-suit.  If I had a live...’vessel,’ energy from that body would go toward healing me.  But like I said, there aren’t any humans around for miles.”</p><p>                Marian tied off her stitches.  “…<em>I’m</em> human.”  She held onto the needle, looking at it instead of Crowley.  “You could possess me.”</p><p>                Crowley’s one working eye widened.  He must have heard her wrong.  “What did you say?”</p><p>                She set the needle down and stared at her hands as she wiped the blood off of them.  “You could possess me.  If it will help.”</p><p>                “Look at me.”</p><p>                She shook her head.</p><p>                “Marian.”</p><p>                She looked up at him. </p><p>                “I don’t want to hurt you.  Physically or mentally.”</p><p>                “It’s okay.  People get possessed all the time, and they’re fine.”  She bit her lip. </p><p>                “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”</p><p>                She licked her lip and bit down harder.  “I want to help you.  If you just possess me long enough to heal yourself and stitch up your ves—meat suit, I’ll be fine.”</p><p>                Crowley squeezed her hand and smiled, though it was hard to read his facial expression given the condition of his face.  “I won’t stay a moment longer than I have to.  You’re going to feel tired after, maybe even sick, since I’ll be drawing so much energy away from you.”</p><p>                “Okay.”</p><p>                He opened his mouth to smoke out, but nothing happened; he frowned, concentrating, and tried again.  The angels had really done a number on him.  Finally, red smoke began to trickle out of him, then pour, then billow, and he moved from his beloved meat-suit into his beloved angel. </p><p>                He could feel the spark of Grace that flowed through her, stinging like a hornet protecting its hive.  Crowley drew on her human energy to heal himself, but the Grace still burned. </p><p>                <em>Marian.  I need you to relax.</em></p><p>                Marian was not relaxing.  She could still see and feel, but she couldn’t control her body.  She couldn’t move her arms, legs, or neck—she couldn’t even control where her eyes looked, or when she blinked.  All she could smell was sulfur.</p><p>                <em>Marian.  Relax, love.  I’ve got you.  You’re safe.</em></p><p>                She couldn’t even breathe when she wanted to. </p><p>                <em>I need you to calm down, or your Grace is going to kill me.</em></p><p>                Her Grace?  Right—it activated when she was in severe danger or pain.  And right now, there was a demon possessing her—no self-respecting shred of Grace was going to stand for that.</p><p>                <em>It’s okay,</em> she thought to herself, <em>it’s just Crowley.  It’s just Crowley.  Crowley is…Fine.  Crowley is good.  He’s allowed to possess me.  Please don’t kill him</em>.</p><p>                The stinging sensation started to fade, and the demon felt his essence beginning to heal.  He grabbed a clean cloth and began wiping the blood from his meat-suit, which was already starting to clot and dry without him in it.  Then he began stitching himself up, starting with his chest and working his way down.  There was still too much blood on his leg (how was that possible?  It’s not like they’d hit an artery), so he had to apply a tourniquet above the wound in order to get the skin dry enough to work with. </p><p>                By the time his meat-suit was repaired, he was starting to feel rejuvenated.  Since Marian and his meat-suit were both covered in blood, he ported them to the master bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower before returning to his favorite body. </p><p>                Just moving from one room to the other was more taxing than he’d anticipated: He should have walked, he thought belatedly, and saved his energy for healing.  Back in his own meat-suit, he realized he still wasn’t in good condition. </p><p>                Marian blacked out as the demon smoked out of her and woke up sitting on the bathroom floor, her back against the tub.  Crowley was right: She felt tired and achy, like she was coming down with the flu.  She shivered and hugged her legs against her chest, blinking as her eyes went in and out of focus. </p><p>                “Come on; let’s get you cleaned up.”</p><p>                “Mmnph,” Marian mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her bloody hands. </p><p>                Crowley grabbed her hands so she couldn’t rub more blood into her eyes, and hauled her to her feet.  “I know.  You can sleep in a minute.  Shower first.”</p><p>                She took a step back and her whole body swayed backward: Crowley pulled her upright. </p><p>                Marian narrowed her eyes.  “I don’t need a chaperone.”</p><p>                “Sure you do.  Come on; clothes off.”</p><p>                “Crowley,” she said, not sure if she was warning him or pleading with him.</p><p>                He sighed.  “We just shared a body.  I think you’ll survive a shower.”</p><p>                Damn.  He had a point. </p><p>                But at least she was wearing clothes when he possessed her. </p><p>                Then again, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked plenty of times before.</p><p>                She didn’t have the brain power left to argue, so she stripped quickly, avoiding looking directly at him, and stepped into the shower.  Crowley stepped in behind her and <em>thank God he kept his boxers on</em>, otherwise she might have died of mortification. </p><p>                Her eyes stung as blood dripped into them (how had she gotten blood around her eyes?).  She closed them, and felt her sense of balance disappear.  She pitched backward and felt Crowley’s hand on her arm, steadying her.  By turning her face into the spray, she was able to clear her eyes enough to keep them open. </p><p>                She should have kept them closed.  Crowley looked even more human when he was wet, and as a human he wasn’t half bad-looking.  His injuries made him look a little rough around the edges, but every hunter she’d met had been covered in scars: Crowley’s just happened to be fresh.  Marian turned away from him.  <em>You are not attracted to him.  He is a demon.  He is a demon wearing a dead guy</em>.</p><p>                She was as clean as she was going to get.  She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself, then had to sit down on the edge of the tub because she was feeling light-headed.  Crowley shut the water off and emerged a moment later, wrapping a towel around his waist, and again she was struck by how <em>human</em> he looked.  Her brain was trying to generate scenarios in which she would run her hands all over his bare chest—probably a side-effect from being possessed, she decided.  Still, she’d feel better after he’d gotten dressed.</p><p>                Crowley brought her clothes to her and then disappeared into the bedroom: While Marian dressed, she could hear him rifling around in her closet.  She dressed and shuffled into her room, sitting down on her bed. </p><p>                Crowley was wearing her bathrobe.  It was fluffy and white with little pink hearts. </p><p>                Marian burst out laughing.  Once she started, she couldn’t stop: Crowley looked cross, and that just made her laugh harder.  She’d never seen him less than immaculately dressed, and never in anything but black, and now she understood why.  Putting a fluffy robe on a demon was like putting footie pajamas on a crocodile: It was hard to imagine them as a cold-blooded killer. </p><p>                He sat down next to her.  “Yes, alright, get it out of your system.  It’s your fault for not having a proper wardrobe, you know.”</p><p>                She caught her breath.  If she didn’t look directly at him, she could stop laughing for a bit.  “Erica got me that for Christmas.  We were living in an apartment in Michigan, and the heating system was terrible.”</p><p>                “Once I’m properly healed, it’s going back in your closet,” Crowley grumbled.  He really should have kept an extra suit in the house, but he’d always been able to ‘snap’ on whatever he needed.  Conserving his energy now was necessary, but annoying.  “I just need to lie down for a bit.” </p><p>                Even though Marian had woken up less than an hour ago, she also felt like lying down after being possessed.  Crowley propped himself up on a couple of pillows, and Marian snuggled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder.</p><p>                “I’d been planning to take you out today,” Crowley said, “But I’m afraid our date will have to wait until tomorrow.  I hardly had enough energy to zap myself back here, I don’t think I could manage Australia right now.”</p><p>                “Australia?!”  An old memory popped into her head.  “I had to inventory the animals there, a few thousand years before humans arrived.  There used to be 1200 species of spider, but now they say there are over 2000…I’m not sure if that’s an improvement.”</p><p>                He smiled, putting his arm around her.  “It’s great for Hell.  So many people are arachnophobic, and more variety keeps things interesting.”</p><p>“They didn’t bother me when I was an angel—they were just some of my Father’s creatures.  But now that I’m human and they can jump on me and bite me…Yeah, not a fan.”</p><p>                “Noted.”  With his free hand, he opened a drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a book.  It had an old, homemade look to it.</p><p>                Marian didn’t recognize it.  “Is that for your work?”</p><p>                “This?  No, this is just for fun.  It’s a compilation of top-secret modern torture techniques taught by world governments: America, China, North Korea, Iran, Russia…The most creative ones tend to come from third-world countries, but their methods are harder to study.”</p><p>                “If it’s top secret, why is there a book written about it?”</p><p>                Crowley laughed.  “This was made by demons,” he said.  “We learn a lot from humans.”</p><p>                Marian wondered if Heaven had the same sort of book as well.  Angels might think themselves all high and mighty, but they enjoyed torturing their enemies just as much as demons did. </p><p>Crowley kissed the top of her head, and began to read aloud: “Chapter one: America…”</p><p>                The book was interesting, but the truly <em>gripping</em> bits were the illustrations, hand-drawn by helpful demonic researchers.  They ranged from stick figure, you-get-the-idea sketches to fully detailed, anatomically correct artistic renderings.  The book was arranged more or less alphabetically, though a few countries had been slapped down randomly, possibly as later additions.  Crowley read through America, Baghdad, Brazil, Cambodia, Canada (a very small chapter, mostly talking about how bloody cold it was in Canada), Chile, and China before both he and Marian fell asleep.</p><p>                 </p><p>                The sun was down when Marian woke up.  <em>I slept through the whole day?</em> She thought.  Then again, it was winter—the sun wasn’t in the sky for very long.  She sat up, still feeling groggy and achy.  Crowley was sleeping.  She’d never seen him sleep before—he looked dead.  Maybe he <em>was</em> dead. </p><p>                “Crowley?”</p><p>                His eyes flew open.  Marian didn’t try to hide the look of relief on her face.</p><p>                Crowley stretched and sat up, looking more like his usual self (aside from the fluffy bath robe).  His face was almost completely healed, though his eye still looked swollen.  “Gods, I needed that.” He snapped his fingers and he was wearing his black silk pajamas: a rattling hanger in the closet indicated that Marian’s robe had returned to its home.  “Much better.”  He leaned back in bed again and waved a hand to turn on the TV, finding a History Channel documentary about Medieval torture. </p><p>                “You okay?”</p><p>                “You just witnessed the extent of my abilities,” the demon replied.  “Give me another twelve hours or so, I should be back to disemboweling sinners.”</p><p>                Since Marian wasn’t doing any better than he was, she snuggled back up to him, deciding that being possessed by a demon was a good excuse for spending 24 hours in bed.  After about an hour, she realized Crowley had fallen back asleep.  She looked over at the TV:  A rather chipper-sounding British historian was reviewing the Judas Cradle.  Helpful illustrations appeared on the screen.  It looked familiar, like maybe she’d seen one in Heaven.  She didn’t feel the need to see one again--she grabbed a book off her nightstand, hoping to zone out the historian’s cheerful description by reading some manga that Crowley had brought her after their trip to Japan.  It was about vampire hunters, and though the lore was all wrong it was still fun to read.  She propped her head up on a few extra pillows and pressed her back against the demon, letting his unnatural warmth seep under her skin. </p><p>                She finished the volume in her hand (#4) and set it back on the side table; #5 was over on the bookshelf, she’d have to get up to reach it.  As she moved, though, a hand tightened around her wrist.  It startled her: She’d thought Crowley was asleep, or in a sort of sleep-like state while he healed.  She turned to look at him, and his eyes were still closed.  He looked…Human.  Not quite dead anymore, but tired.  Vulnerable. </p><p>                But he still had a demon’s grip on her arm.  Marian gave an experimental tug, and his fingers tightened. </p><p>                “Crowley.”</p><p>                When he replied, his voice was low, barely above a whisper.  “Stay.” </p><p>                “I’m just going to grab another book.  I’m not even leaving the room.” </p><p>                In an almost plaintive tone he said, “Don’t leave me.”</p><p>                Maybe he was still half-conscious and hadn’t heard her.  His fingers were really starting to dig into her; she could feel the little bones in her hand and wrist shifting.  “I’m not leaving.  I told you—I’m just going to grab a book.”</p><p>                “I can’t—I can’t let you go, angel,” he said, and now she was certain he wasn’t really listening.  “I need you.  Gods, I love you so much.”</p><p>                Marian forgot about her wrist for a moment.  Did Crowley really just say…?  It was because he was weak right now, and of course she was there, making him feel human.  If humanity was like booze to demons, she normally saw him two drinks in, but this was probably more like keg-stand-level Crowley.  And now he was just vomiting up emotional nonsense, purging himself back to his natural demonic state.  That’s all it was.</p><p>                Still, she couldn’t help feeling a bit smitten by his sentiment.  She felt her face flush, and she bent down to kiss him.  He hummed happily and kissed her back, his free hand coming up to touch her cheek, her hair, her neck: It was like he needed to feel her to make sure that she was real. </p><p>                Making out with ‘drunk’ Crowley was hot, but he was still holding onto her wrist like she would blink away if he let up at all, and bones were touching other bones that they should not have been touching.   She managed to pull back long enough to say: “Crowley, you’re hurting me!”</p><p>                He opened his eyes and released her.  He looked up at her hazily, trying to come out of whatever place he’d been before and understand what was happening now. </p><p>                “Marian?  I’m sorry, angel, I wasn’t…I don’t dream often, I’m afraid it…Got away from me…”  He saw her rubbing her wrist and took her hand gently to examine it.  “Nothing’s broken, at least.”  He looked mildly embarrassed.  “You’re alright?  I didn’t…Do anything else odd, did I?”</p><p>                She looked down at her hand, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.  “No.  I was trying to get up to get a book, and you grabbed me, told me not to leave…I—I think you were afraid I’d leave for good?  And…I kissed you, you kissed me.  But you wouldn’t let go of my hand.”              </p><p>                “Ah.  Yes.  Sorry about that.”  He rubbed her hand apologetically.  “It was not a good dream.  Until the end,” he said with a smile.  “I liked that bit.”</p><p>                Marian turned her head away, biting back a grin, but Crowley still saw it.  His own smile widened, and he kissed her hand.  “We could continue where we left off, if you like…”</p><p>                “Why was I going to leave you?  In your dream.”</p><p>                His expression soured.  “Why do you think?  I’m a demon, I’m evil, I only care about myself, everything I say must be a lie, blah blah blah…How long a list would you like?”</p><p>                She laid her head on his chest, draping her arm across his torso.  “Please; everyone knows <em>angels</em> are the liars.”</p><p>                The demon smiled.  He ran his hand through her hair and she leaned into his touch; he brought his hand under her chin, gently guiding her head up so that he could kiss her again.  He half expected her to push him away, so he got a little thrill when she didn’t so much as flinch as he slid his tongue into her mouth.  She was actually kissing him back now—not just passively <em>allowing</em> him, but reciprocating, and it was giving Crowley all sorts of un-demonic feelings he wasn’t used to dealing with.  He felt tingly and…Gooey, like a happy puddle of sunshine.  Gods, was that a real thing?  It sounded so unbearably <em>human</em>, but then…Yes, she made him feel human.  The usual forces that drove him as a demon—greed, pride, lust—didn’t seem important right now.  What was important was…What <em>was </em>important? </p><p>                Marian was important.  She was the greatest drug in the world, taking all of the pain and hatred that came with being a demon and replacing it with…Well, the gooey, tingly feeling.  It was the feeling not only that he loved <em>her</em>, which was its own weird kind of happy pain, but the feeling that he also deserved to be loved, that he <em>could</em> be loved.  He wanted—no, he <em>needed</em>—to make her happy, because his own happiness was now directly related to hers.</p><p>                She eventually pulled back to catch her breath—it was exhausting making out with someone who didn’t need to breathe—and Crowley rolled onto his side, hooking his arm around her waist and drawing her closer.  He kissed along her jawline and down her neck, nipping and sucking gently enough that he didn’t leave a mark.  Marian’s pulse sped up: He could feel it through her neck, hear her heart pounding in her chest.  She smelled like fear and arousal, and he had to fight back the urge to bite her until she bled, pin her arms above her head, and ravage her like an ordinary demon.  Self-control was not his forte, but the more time he spent with his ex-angel, the better he got at it, and now he was exercising human-level restraint over his darker instincts.  He needed to show her that she didn’t need to be afraid of him; that he loved her, and he would never hurt her.  And he needed to make her come so hard she couldn’t see straight. </p><p>                One thing at a time.</p><p> </p><p>                Marian knew she should be objecting, but with the demon’s tongue and teeth on her neck it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember what she was supposed to be objecting to.  There was a part of her brain, the sharp part that usually kept her from getting killed by vampires, that was raising all sorts of alarm bells—<em>what the Hell are you doing?  You’ve never done this with him before.  Are you just going to let him keep going?  He’s still manipulating you, he’s still a demon; remember the last demon that had you on your back</em>—and it was that deep-seated fear, more than any sort of arousal, that had her trembling at his touch.  At the same time, it felt <em>really</em> good.  She felt hot and tingly and turned on and afraid, and she didn’t know whether to push him away or tell him to keep going. </p><p>                <em>He threatened to kill everyone you know and forced you to sell yourself to him in exchange for their safety.  </em></p><p>                <em>But when he’s not threatening to kill and torture people, he’s actually kind of sweet…</em></p><p>His hand slid under her shirt and kneaded her breast gently, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her nipple.  Marian let out the most undignified whimper and grabbed his arm to stop him; his hand retreated to her waist and he released the bit of neck he was sucking on with a tiny ‘pop.’ </p><p>                “Too much, darling?” he purred against her throat.  He continued to pepper her with little kisses, making his way back up to her lips.  He didn’t seem at all phased by her rejection, which was…Different.  She could remember a time not so long ago when she’d tried to push him off her chest and he’d snapped at her.  Had things really changed that much since then?  Had <em>he</em> changed? </p><p>                <em>No</em>, she thought firmly.  <em>It’s just his damn psychology, and it’s working on you.  It’s really worked.  </em>She berated herself silently, wondering if she’d have the mental fortitude not to fall for him if she’d still been an angel.  <em>You’re so weak,</em> she fumed at herself.  <em>You were weak as an angel and you’re weak as a human, and you can’t even stop yourself from falling for a demon’s charms…</em></p><p>                Crowley felt her muscles tense, and he could smell saltwater, like she was going to cry.  What had brought that on?  He’d thought they were having a good time.</p><p>                “What’s wrong, angel?”</p><p>                “Noth—”</p><p>                “Let’s just nip this one in the bud, shall we?  It’s obviously something.”</p><p>                She sighed.  “I’m just…Angry with myself.  For—for not being smarter, for letting you manipulate me to the point where I’m making out with you—”</p><p>                “Oi!  That’s a bit harsh.  Yes, I’ve been manipulating you; I manipulate everybody, it’s what I do.  That doesn’t mean I don’t genuinely care for you.  And to be fair, <em>you’ve</em> been manipulating <em>me</em>, making me feel all sorts of things a demon shouldn’t feel; I could have gone insane.  I probably am.”</p><p>                “What?!  I—Well, not on purpose!” Marian huffed indignantly.</p><p>                Crowley chuckled and brushed her hair out of her face.  “I know, love.  You are what you are, and I am what I am.  If you want to hold that against me, I understand.”</p><p>                Marian narrowed her eyes.  Hold it against him?  “No!” she snapped.  “What I want to hold against you is that you threatened to kill my friends and family—a whole town, in fact—and you made me your…Your prisoner, and…And…”  She trailed off, furiously trying to think of more things she could hold against him. </p><p>                “Well, I had to get your attention somehow.”</p><p>                She scowled.  “And…You’ve been really nice to me just…To get me…To like you…”  Hmm.  It had sounded more damning in her head. </p><p>                “Mmm.  How absolutely horrible.”</p><p>                “<em>Crowley.”</em></p><p>                “I’m sorry, I fail to see the problem here.  How is what I’ve done (aside from threatening to kill people) any different than what any human does in a relationship?  I’m no longer holding you against your will, and I did save your friends’ lives.”</p><p>                Marian deflated slightly, looking away from him.  “Yes, thank you for that,” she said quietly.  Then, sternly: “But you were only using them as leverage against me anyway.”</p><p>                Crowley shrugged.  “Demon,” he said, as if that made everything acceptable.  “Look, angel, it’s a credit to your intelligence that you don’t trust me.  You should never trust <em>anyone</em>.  But you <em>can</em> trust me.  I’ve always been honest with you.”</p><p>                She started to argue, then realized she didn’t have anything to say.  As far as she knew, he <em>had</em> been honest.  It was a bit of a stretch to believe that a demon would risk everything on a plot to kill the Devil, but Crowley had made an excellent argument in that (a) Lucifer hated demons more than anything and would likely kill them all the first chance he got, and (b) Crowley didn’t want to die.  And maybe she really did make him feel emotions like a human—it would explain why he was so patient with her, among other things.  She’d never been around another demon long enough to know if she had any sort of effect on them, though years ago one had cried while she was interrogating it and started blubbering about killing its three children back when it was alive.  At the time, she’d chalked it up to too much Holy water, but…Maybe it had been her? </p><p>                She sighed.  “Fine.  You’re not <em>horrible.</em>  For a demon.”</p><p>                Crowley patted her head.  “I suppose that’s the highest praise I could ask for from an ex-angel.  You didn’t even use the word ‘repulsive.’”</p><p>                “Have you seen yourself?” Marian replied, thinking of the times she could see the demon’s true face through his human meat-suit.  “You look like you came straight out of Hell.”  Crowley looked hurt, so she added, “I mean, you <em>did </em>come straight out of Hell.”</p><p>                “Is that what you see right now, when you look at me?”</p><p>                She shook her head.  “No.  I can’t see it all the time.  Right now you just look…Human.”  She ran her hand down the side of his face, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.  His chin was scratchy with stubble; did he still have to shave, even though his vessel was dead?  He probably just ‘willed’ his facial hair to whatever length he wanted.  “I like this face.”</p><p>                His confident smile returned; he took her hand and kissed it.  “I could have another, if you wanted.  Tom Cruise?  Harrison Ford?  Michael J Foxx?  Or maybe someone like Mark Sheppard is more your thing?”</p><p>                “You can’t just possess a celebrity like that!”</p><p>                “Sure I can.”  He shrugged.  “It is frowned upon by the higher-ups, but there’s no rule against <em>borrowing</em> one for a joy-ride around Hollywood now and then.  They won’t remember a thing.”</p><p>                “No!  I don’t want you to possess someone else!”</p><p>                “Alright.  Offer’s on the table if you change your mind.”</p><p>               </p><p>               </p><p>               </p><p>               </p><p>               </p><p>               </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26: NSFW</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***A/N: In case it wasn’t clear from the title, this is more Not Safe for Work than previous chapters and contains actual smut!!!  Yes!  And it only took 25 chapters to get there!  Also Happy Birthday to my BFF Kelly, who has been patiently waiting for this slow burn to finally catch fire.***</p><p> </p><p>Marian spent the rest of the evening resting with Crowley, dozing off and on as she listened to the TV.  When the history channel started a show about alien conspiracy theories, Crowley switched over to ESPN, which was currently showing college basketball.  Collegiate athletes were the perfect prey for making deals: They wanted to go pro more than anything, and they all thought they were immortal, so the threat of having their soul collected in ten years didn’t bother them.  Crowley kept an eye on all the not-quite-good enough ones, because those were always the first to fold. </p><p>                Marian woke up starving.  She dragged herself down to the kitchen, which was still a bit of a bloody mess, and had a granola bar and some coffee before returning to her room.  Crowley was sitting up on the edge of the bed when she got back, shirt off, looking at himself in the mirror that hung on the outside of her closet.  He touched each of the wounds he’d stitched up, twisting to see the one on his back.  The stitches were visible, but the wounds themselves were almost completely healed.</p><p>                “Those healed fast,” Marian said, sitting down next to him.</p><p>                “Mmm.  Thanks to you.  If I hadn’t possessed you, I’d still be a bloody mess.”  He kissed her cheek, smiling when she blushed. </p><p>                Marian looked at their reflections in the mirror.  She knew from before that Crowley wasn’t a fan of people getting behind him, because they might try to attack him.  For a demon, it was just common sense. But maybe, if he could see her reflection, he wouldn’t feel threatened. </p><p>                Moving slowly and making sure he could see her in the mirror, she scooted behind him and put her hands on his shoulders.  Still watching her reflection, she started to rub his shoulders.  Crowley felt tense and his eyes were locked on Marian’s image, but he didn’t yell at her or try to push her away.  She pressed harder against the muscle, digging in with her thumbs.  He slowly began to relax, and she moved down his back.  But the angle quickly became an issue for her.</p><p>                “Want to lie down?”</p><p>                He moved onto his stomach, turning his head so that he could still see her in the mirror.  It had been a long time since Marian had given anyone a massage, and she realized her small hands were better at picking locks than soothing muscles.  She had to put all her weight into it, getting her shoulders over her hands like she was performing CPR.</p><p>                “Mmm.  This is nice,” Crowley said, his eyes half-closed. </p><p>                “My arms are getting tired.  Hang on—I want to try something.” </p><p>                She set her foot sideways on his back.  “I used to do this for Michael—he had an old back injury—but he was on the floor…”</p><p>                She reached up and put a hand on the ceiling to steady herself, then stepped onto him with her other foot.  Using the ceiling as support, she smoothed her feet across his back, trying to knead him like a cat.  When she looked at Crowley in the mirror, his eyes were closed. </p><p>                “Is this okay?”</p><p>                “Mmm,” he purred.  “You could do this with <em>cleats</em> on and it would still be wonderful.”</p><p>                Marian laughed and lost her balance.  She half-stepped, half-fell off of Crowley and landed on her butt on the bed.  Crowley spun and pinned her on her back, kissing her with an aggressiveness that suggested he was trying to suck her soul out of her mouth.  She pressed against his shoulder and let out a muffled protest: He softened his approach, gently swirling his tongue in her mouth and nipping at her lower lip.  He sprawled on top of her, one thigh between her legs, propping himself up on one hand while the other began to pull her shirt up over her chest.</p><p>                “Crowley!” she snapped, grabbing his wrist to stop him.</p><p>                He leaned into her, bringing their upper bodies together.  “I just want a little skin-ship,” he purred between kisses.</p><p>                Marian couldn’t help arching into him a little as his hot skin touched hers.  It felt…Well, it shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.  Crowley ran his hand up her side, then gently squeezed her breast as he bit her neck.</p><p>                She grabbed his arm again.  “Crow—”</p><p>                She gasped as he swirled a finger around her nipple. </p><p>                “I’ve been thinking,” Crowley said.  “The other day, when you pushed me away, I’d thought it was because there was a part of you that was still disgusted by me.”  He nipped her neck again, sucking and lapping his tongue over her skin.  With his lips by her ear, he continued, softly: “But it’s not about me, is it?”  He sucked on her earlobe as his fingers continued to play with her nipple.  “You’re disgusted by <em>yourself</em>.  You feel guilty for wanting me.”  Another suck.  Marian whined and squirmed, but he didn’t let her go.  “I told you before, loving a demon doesn’t make you weak.  But if that’s how you feel, I’ll take full responsibility for your…Corruption.”  He ran his hand down her thigh and violently entwined his tongue with hers.  She was still refusing to give in completely, but she wasn’t trying very hard to push him away and besides, her legs had become weak.  “If there is a guilty party here, it’s me,” Crowley continued, concentrating on her neck again.  “You never—” <em>lick, suck—</em>“stood a chance—” <em>kiss—</em>“against me.”</p><p>                Marian was shaking, and it wasn’t just out of fear.  Her skin was hot and tingly, and all the kissing and touching and talking was having an almost hypnotic effect on her.  Then she felt Crowley’s lips on her breast: His breath was hot against her skin as his tongue swirled around her nipple.</p><p>                Her back arched reflexively and she gasped.  Her whole body lit up, but she still had enough brain function to say:</p><p>                “I don’t want to have sex with you right now!”</p><p>                Crowley raised his head to look at her and stopped toying with her nipple.  He didn’t look upset in the slightest: In fact, he was feeling pretty damn smug that she’d said ‘right now,’ which implied that she <em>did</em> want to have sex with him at another point in time. </p><p>                “I didn’t think you would,” he replied, planting a line of sloppy kisses along her collarbone.  “You’re still afraid…” He dragged his tongue up the length of her neck.  “…That I’ll be too rough with you…” He nipped and sucked on her earlobe.  “…No doubt thanks, in part, to the asinine demon that abducted you.”  He kissed along her jawline, working his way back to her lips.  “So I thought I’d show you how gentle I can be.”  He sucked on her lower lip.  “No sex.”  <em>Kiss.  </em>“No scary demon cock—though I assure you it’s not that scary.” <em>He traced her lip with his tongue.</em>  “Just my hands—” He rubbed her nipple—“And mouth—” Another kiss—“And I’ll make you come until you can’t see straight.”</p><p>                Marian shivered.  She wanted to say ‘no.’  She really did.  But…For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why.  Yes, she was a little bit afraid of him, but he was right that she mostly just felt guilty about giving in to him.  But he’d gotten her so worked up, she felt like she’d burst into flames if he stopped now.  He nipped at her neck, and the hand that was playing with her nipple moved down her body and slid between her legs.  She could feel the heat from his hand through her pants, and she wanted <em>more</em>.</p><p>                Oh, fuck it.  She’d already fallen from Heaven. </p><p>                “You’ll stop if I ask you to?” she said, still clinging to some iota of control.</p><p>                “Of course, love.  Do you want me to stop now?”</p><p>                She shook her head.  In a small voice, almost a whimper, she said: “No.”</p><p>                Crowley growled happily. In one smooth motion, he divested her of both her pants and underwear: She was now completely bare beneath him.  He took one nipple in his mouth, holding it gently between his teeth as he ran his tongue over it.  He propped himself up on his elbow so that he could play with her other nipple with his fingers, while his dominant hand went back between her legs.</p><p>                Marian held her breath as he began to explore her.  He was incredibly gentle, his fingers lightly brushing over her skin.  When his finger ran traced her clit, her hips twitched involuntarily.  He moved lower, running his middle finger over her entrance before slipping just the first knuckle inside.  She hadn’t realized how wet she was until she heard the obscene little squelching sound his finger made. </p><p>                Crowley enjoyed that sound far too much.  “So wet for me,” he purred.  He pumped his finger in and out, pressing upward into her G-spot and each time he produced that delicious sucking sound.  Pulling his finger out, he dragged it up her folds to her clit, spreading her natural lube.  He continued to play with her clit, lightly teasing her, spreading her folds apart.  Marian spread her legs as far apart as they would go, opening herself up to him, and he let out another delighted growl.</p><p>                “Good girl,” he purred.  Before Marian could decide if she should be offended by that statement, he increased the pressure on her clit.  She bit her lip to stifle a moan, but it was still quite audible, and she grabbed his arm. </p><p>                Crowley turned his hand dipping his middle finger into her while rubbing her clit with his thumb, slowly easing from one knuckle to two.  “Hmm?  Don’t hold back, angel; let me hear how much you like it.”  His finger slid the rest of the way inside her and he curled it, then pulled almost all the way out.  She moaned, her hips bucked, pulling him back in; he pulled out again, and again she couldn’t stop herself from pressing into him, forcing his finger back inside, the moans growing louder each time.</p><p>                He released her breast and bit her neck, then kissed his way up to her mouth as he continued to finger-fuck her.  She bit down on his lower lip with a ferocity he hadn’t expected but thoroughly enjoyed.</p><p>                “Yes,” he muttered between kisses.  “Bite me.  Harder. Don’t be afraid to hurt me.”</p><p>                She bit his neck, but she <em>was</em> afraid of hurting him. </p><p>                “Harder,” he hissed, adding pressure to her clit.</p><p>                Marian moaned again, practically writhing beneath him.  She dug her nails into his back and sunk her teeth into his neck, and Crowley growled with pleasure.  She licked across the bite marks, but she needed something else to do with her hands. </p><p>                Right.</p><p>                Her hand instinctively traveled to Crowley’s groin, giving his bulge a gentle squeeze through his boxers. </p><p>                Crowley moaned and pressed his hips into her.  “Marian…wait…”</p><p>                She squeezed him harder, running her hand up and down his length.  The sounds he made in response were very undignified and un-demonic.  <em>Oh fuck, yes.</em>  She repeated the motion, then went to slide her hand under his waistband.</p><p>                Crowley grabbed her wrist.  “Angel—wait.”  He looked pained by the sudden loss of contact.  “Don’t worry about me right now, love.  No scary demon cocks, remember?”  He nuzzled her neck, placing gentle kisses down her throat.  “Just…relax…Let me take care of you.”  He released her hand and brushed his fingers over her clit: She whimpered and arched her back, and he clamped his mouth over a nipple. </p><p>                “Fuck it, Crowley…”  Marian grabbed his dick through his boxers again.  “…I need you…”  She squeezed harder as he slid two fingers inside her.  “You can think of it as…Torture…If that helps…”</p><p>                It <em>was</em> torture.  Crowley was trembling with the effort it took to restrain himself.  But she <em>wanted</em> him—no, <em>needed</em> him—</p><p>“Yes.  Torture me.”  He mojo’d his boxers off, letting out another undignified moan as Marian wrapped her hand around his bare cock.</p><p>                She moved her hands, gliding up and down, getting a feel for his length and girth.  <em>Were the others this big?</em> Marian wondered, trying to remember how large her previous partners had been.  <em>He feels bigger.  Is this really supposed to fit inside me?  Can I even fit this in my mouth?</em>  She ran her thumb over the tip, smearing pre-cum down the shaft. </p><p>                Crowley bit down on her collarbone.  “Damn it, angel.  You’re making it hard to focus.”</p><p>                She decided she really liked not-in-control Crowley.  “I’m sorry, should I be gentle?” she teased.  She loosened her grip and just barely brushed her thumb over the head again, rubbing delicate circles over and around him, making his cock twitch.</p><p>                Crowley groaned.  “You’ve got the torture part down, I’ll give you that.”</p><p>                Marian smiled and gave him a good squeeze, moving from tip to base and back up again, then pressed her thumb not-so-gently over the head.</p><p>                “Ah!  Yes!”  He arched his back in pleasure.</p><p>                Marian continued to roll her thumb over his head, applying a good amount of pressure.  She started to alternate head rubs with long strokes, finding a rhythm just as Crowley found his own rhythm fingering and rubbing her. </p><p>                Crowley mashed his mouth against hers, biting and sucking her lower lip.  As they kissed, Marian managed to get her other hand between them, and gave his balls a gentle squeeze.  His hips bucked and he moaned into her mouth. </p><p>                “Gods, yes.  More,” he pleaded.  “Hurt me.”</p><p>                “Hurt…Your balls?” Marian asked, surprised.  She understood the demon’s need for pain, but she hadn’t expected that to include genitalia, and she didn’t want to just crush his testicles without a little clarification. </p><p>                “Yes.”  He thrust into her hand.  “Bollocks.  Cock.  Doesn’t matter.  Punish me.”</p><p>                Cautiously, she turned her nails in and squeezed again.</p><p>                “Ungh, yes!” </p><p>                She tried to manipulate her jerking-off hand so that her nails would stick into him just a little, but it felt like she was going to do actual damage to him if she did, so she kept her hand slack, trying to figure out another way. </p><p>                “Do it,” Crowley urged, his own hand still so gentle as he played with her clit and fingered her.  “Give me a good squeeze, just like that.”</p><p>                She squeezed, digging her nails into his shaft, and he thrust against her hand, the pain sending jolts of pleasure through him. </p><p>                Crowley usually prided himself on his sexual stamina: He could go for hours if the occasion arose.  But with Marian…Damn, he felt like he could come right in her hand.  It wasn’t fair, really—he could <em>feel</em> so much more, physically and emotionally.  Every sexual encounter before this paled in comparison—even the one with an actual winged angel.  It was the difference between fucking with a condom (which, to be fair, he hadn’t tried) and going bareback: The former was better than nothing, but a far cry from the latter.  Maybe it was her ‘fallen-angel’ mojo, or maybe it was because, for the first time in his life (or death), he had an emotional connection to his partner.  Whatever the reason, he was struggling not to come too fast.</p><p>                He had planned on pleasuring his angel for hours: She’d be a hot, sweaty mess, writhing beneath him, begging him for more, screaming his name, and when he finally let her come, she would never even imagine herself with another man again.  She’d be his completely, and when she recovered, she would beg him to fuck her, and of course he would oblige…</p><p>                But he wasn’t going to last hours.  And that was alright, because this scenario was a thousand times better, with his cock in her hand while he played with her.  Now, though, he had to get her off <em>first.</em> </p><p>                Crowley slid farther down the bed, and Marian was forced to let go of him.  “Something wrong?” she asked.</p><p>                The demon planted wet, sloppy kisses between her breasts and down her stomach as he positioned himself between her legs.  “Nothing’s wrong.  I just need a little taste—” </p><p>                He hooked her legs over his shoulders and playfully tonguing her, covering every inch from her taint to her clit.  Marian cried out in surprised pleasure, her hips twitching.  Crowley used a hand to spread her wide, and kissed her clit.  He ran his tongue in circles around her clit, just teasing, then slid back down to slide his tongue into her pussy.</p><p>                She arched her back and practically screamed his name, clawing at the blanket.  “CROWLEY!”</p><p>                That sound was music to his ears.  “Put your hands where mine is,” he said, his breath ghosting over her and making her squirm.</p><p>                She did as she was told, spreading herself open for him.  He rewarded her by sucking on her clit and slipping a finger inside her: Marian cried out again, feeling the pressure begin to build inside her.  As Crowley’s ministrations became more intense, she couldn’t hold still: She thrust up against him as he twisted his finger in her.  He added a second finger, and now she was moaning and mumbling incoherently, hips humping with increasing irregularity, and Crowley kept his lips locked on her clit the whole time.  Sucking and licking at the same time, increasing in intensity.  She held his head down against her.  She was on fire, her muscles going tense—</p><p>                “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” she screamed.</p><p>                Crowley shoved his fingers as far inside her as they would go.  She cried out as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves of pleasure.  Fluid gushed over Crowley’s hand, and he felt her flutter and contract around his fingers.  He released her clit with a little ‘pop’ of suction, but kept his fingers inside her, stroking slowly, until her last spasm had passed. </p><p>                Marian flopped back, her body limp, lost in a post-orgasmic haze.  She was vaguely aware of Crowley wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before he lay down next to her.  He kissed her, and she tasted herself on his lips. </p><p>                The haze began to lift, and she immediately reached for his cock.  She stroked him lazily as he continued to kiss her, feeling guilty that she wasn’t doing more but still in a bit of a stupor. </p><p>                “It’s alright, angel.  I can take care of that later,” Crowley said, removing her hand.  “I just want you to enjoy yourself right now.”</p><p>                Marian looked at him through glazed-over eyes.  <em>No</em>, she thought, <em>that’s not how this works.  You eat me out, I suck you off.  This isn’t my first rodeo.</em>  She sat up slowly, feeling light-headed, and grabbed his cock again, gently pushing on his chest so he would lie down.  More out of surprise than anything, he complied. </p><p>                It had been…A while, she wasn’t sure exactly how long, since she’d had a dick in her mouth, and to be honest she was a little out of it right now, but it was like riding a bike, right?  She grasped the base, pulling the foreskin back from the tip, and slowly sank her mouth onto his dick, curling her lips over her teeth.  She drew back, then ran her tongue from balls to head before sucking on his head, squeezing the shaft and pumping with her hand.  He didn’t taste the way she’d expected, but then, he wasn’t human, so all the little human smells that accumulated in the groin—sweat, Gold Bond, laundry detergent, piss, that weird odor when someone ate fish or asparagus—weren’t there.  He just tasted like sex and sulfur, and she was used to the sulfur by this point.</p><p>                It was hard to remain upright—Crowley really had destroyed her with that orgasm.  She rested her head on his stomach, continuing to suck on the tip.  She let go of the shaft long enough to give his balls a good squeeze.  Remembering that he enjoyed pain, she dug her nails in just a little; then inspiration struck. </p><p>                She flipped around so that her head was against his thigh, and licked over his scrotum, continuing to stroke him with her hand.  Crowley groaned and cursed, losing himself in feelings.  Marian kissed and sucked on one ball, then the other; gently at first, she added her teeth, scraping them along the delicate skin. </p><p>                “Fuck yes!” Crowley cried, legs tightening in response.</p><p>                Now she was really starting to come out of her haze.  She watched him carefully as she bit down a little harder, nervous about really hurting him or (Hell forbid) biting through an actual testicle.  But Crowley wasn’t concerned in the least—he was loving it.  He bucked his hips, fucking her hand, and because his balls were now, technically, a moving target, the level of biting-danger increased, but that only made it more exciting for him.</p><p>                “Marian—<em>shit</em>—you keep doing that, I’ll come.”</p><p>                “Mmm?” she hummed against his skin.  She licked across his taint, then sucked hard, and bit down. </p><p>                Crowley came with a shout, shooting cum across his stomach.  When he was completely spent, Marian let go of him and sat up, still light-headed.  She sucked the remaining cum out of his cock.  Crowley, losing all pretense of control, let out a shudder, a gasp, maybe a small squeal and went limp. Crowley fumbled around, looking for the underwear he’d mojo’d off himself, using them to clean up the various fluids that covered them.  Then they both flopped back in bed, exhausted. </p><p>                Crowley motioned for Marian to cuddle up to him, resting her head on his shoulder and her arm draped across his chest.  He spotted a blanket wadded up at the foot of the bed, and used his power to place it over both of them.  He felt…He felt…</p><p>                So many things, and he didn’t understand half of them.  But he knew that he was happy.  He was happy, and content, and in love—three things he’d never been as a demon.</p><p>                “I love you so much, angel,” he said, kissing her forehead. </p><p>                She kissed the bit of skin closest to her.  “I love you, too.”</p><p>                She felt Crowley shift, and raised her head so he could roll onto his side to face her.  He held her chin up and kissed her, and if she had to describe that kiss in one word it would be “passionate,” though previously she didn’t think than demons could be passionate about anything that wasn’t torture.  He let go of her chin and wrapped his arm around her waist, hugging her tightly.  When he finally broke their kiss, he buried his head in the crook of her neck, nuzzling her collarbone.  She never imagined a demon would be the type to cuddle after sex (well, sexual activity of any kind), but then, she did make him more…Human…And Crowley wasn’t like other demons.  She rubbed his back, her body mostly slack as she continued to recover from the first orgasm she’d had in…Months?  A year?  She couldn’t even remember.</p><p>                Crowley picked his head up and kissed her again, then leaned back just enough to look her in the eye.  His eyes looked glassy and wet—was that normal?  She didn’t think demons could cry, but it looked like he might. </p><p>                “What’s wrong?”</p><p>                He smoothed her sexed-up hair back.  “Nothing, love.  It’s just…No one’s ever said that to me before.”</p><p>                Marian blinked.  What had she said?  “’I love you’?”</p><p>                He smiled sadly.</p><p>                Marian frowned.  “Well—sure, not as a <em>demon</em>, but when you were alive…I know you didn’t have the best relationship with your family, but—”</p><p>                He shook his head. </p><p>                “…Oh.”  She took a moment to digest that.  “Do you need to hear me say it again?”</p><p>                His eyes lit up.  “Mmm.  I think so.”</p><p>                She looked straight into his eyes.  For a moment, she saw his true face—the demon beneath the skin--but it didn’t bother her anymore.  “I love you.”  She kissed his cheek.  “I love you.”  She kissed his nose.  “I love you.”  She kissed his other cheek.  “I love you.”  She kissed his lips.  “I love you.”</p><p>                Crowley blinked and felt moisture flow from his eyes.  <em>I’m leaking.</em>  “My perfect little angel.  What have I done to deserve you?”  He gave her another kiss. </p><p>                Marian smirked.  “I believe you had my family possessed.”</p><p>                “Ah, that’s right.”  He smiled fondly at the memory. </p><p>                Marian snuggled closer to him, her head pressed against his chest, and closed her eyes.  Crowley rolled onto his back, keeping his arm around her, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.  For the first time in his existence, he didn’t dream of Hell, or being turned into a demon, or his previous life as a despised drunkard.  He had something better now.</p><p>                <em>I love you.</em></p><p>
  <em>                I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                I love you.</em>
</p><p>               </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27: Still NSFW</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N: I’m not dead!  Sorry for the delay, I know it’s been a year since I’ve posted a new chapter.  I kept putting this off because I wanted to write “good” smut but that’s just not my forte.  So I’ve given up on trying to make it “good” and I’m just publishing what I’ve got so I can move forward with the story.  Thank you for reading!             </p><p>Warning: NSFW smut</p><p>***</p><p>Crowley woke feeling better than he had in centuries.  Whatever Hell and Earth threw at him--Incompetent employees, rooms full of paperwork, rival demons, hunters, vindictive angels, even Lucifer—he could handle it.  As long as he had Marian, he could take on the world. </p><p>                Marian was gone.</p><p>                Crowley sat up, scanning the room.  If someone had broken in, they would have killed him to tie up loose ends.  Had Marian left?  Maybe she regretted what happened—though how could she?  He’d been, quite frankly, amazing.  And she loved him, so why would she ever want to leave?</p><p>                Unless she didn’t really love him.  Maybe she only said she did because he made her cum so hard.  Was that something humans did?  It sounded like something humans would do.</p><p>                He realized he could hear the shower running in the bathroom: She hadn’t left, then.  She didn’t regret anything.  Still, he felt a strong desire to be close to her—these human feelings were going to destroy him.  He ported into the shower, appearing directly behind her.</p><p> </p><p>                Marian’s mind was in overdrive, trying to sort out all those pesky human emotions.  Part of her regretted her participation in last night’s…Activities.  She’d been so strong for months, and now…Christ, she’d even told him she loved him!  That was definitely a mistake.  Not saying “no” to him was a mistake.  Saying “yes” to the deal in the first place was a mistake.  On the other hand, she did love him…</p><p>                She felt a presence behind her and turned, jumping back in surprise when she saw Crowley just an inch away from her.  Her foot slipped and she started to fall backward, but he caught her arms and pulled her upright. </p><p>                “Christ!  You scared me,” she grumbled as he pulled her in for a kiss.  Once he’d kissed her, she pushed him back.  “You couldn’t wait until I was out of the shower to kiss me?”</p><p>                Crowley grinned mischievously.  “No.”  He drew her back in for another kiss, sliding his hand down her back to squeeze her ass. </p><p>                “Could you just give me a second?  I still have conditioner in my hair.”</p><p>                He spun her around and wrapped his arms around her.  “Are you sure you don’t need my help with any ’hard to reach’ places?”</p><p>                “Yes!” she snapped, struggling out of his grip.  “And in case you were wondering, because I know you were, I hate shower sex.  It’s never as—”  She trailed off, staring at Crowley’s skin.  “Why aren’t you wet?”</p><p>                “Hmm?  Oh, I didn’t feel like it.”</p><p>                She watched beads of water from the shower fall toward him and then, in a magnificent betrayal of gravity, fail to land on him.  He had become hydrophobic.  Marian stared, fascinated.  She had seen monsters and magic, but right now she was dumbstruck by a demon refusing to get wet in a shower. </p><p>                “…Okay,” she said at last.  “…I’m gonna rinse my hair…”  She tilted her head back under the spray, tearing her eyes away from Crowley.  When she was done, she shut the water off, and Crowley handed her a towel. </p><p>                She dried herself off and started to dress; Crowley snapped his suit onto himself, and pulled a knife out of his pocket. </p><p>                “I’ll have to do your warding before we head out.”</p><p>                “Out?”</p><p>                “Australia.  You do still want to go?”</p><p>                “Oh!  Yes.”  She stopped halfway through putting her shirt on, and sat on the edge of the bathtub. </p><p>                Crowley carved the sigil into her back first, wiping the blood up with a washcloth as he went.  When he made the symbol on her chest, he got a bit frisky, fondling her breast with his free hand and lapping her blood up with his tongue.  It was an unusual turn-on, but damn it, it worked.  There was still part of her that regretted what she’d done last night, but it was now largely outweighed by her long-neglected libido.  When Crowley put the knife away and leaned in to kiss her, she reciprocated eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck. </p><p>                He slid his hands under her thighs and scooped her up, blinking them back to the bed and setting her down gently.  Staying between her legs, he leaned forward, easing her onto her back as he continued to kiss her.  </p><p>                Marian felt his hand on the waistband of her jeans, moving to undo the button.  She grabbed his arm, stopping him.  “Crowley—”</p><p>                “I know, love; no penetrative sex.  I thought you might enjoy a replay of last night?  We could skip right to the part where I eat you out, if you’d like.”</p><p>                She felt her skin flush at the thought.  “I, uh…”  Damn it, she was going to tell him something, and now he’d got her all flustered!  “Look, I just…I don’t want to get pregnant right now,” she said at last.  “I know the Nephilim is important, but I just need a little more time to…I don’t know…Not deal with that.”</p><p>                Crowley cocked his head to the side and sank back on his heels.  Marian could almost see the gears shifting in his head from ‘sex’ to ‘discussion.’ </p><p>                “Absolutely,” he said with a nod.  “The Nephilim will be important, eventually.  Right now, I want you all to myself.”</p><p>                Marian blinked.  “…You do?”</p><p>                “Oh, yes.  Children are incredibly needy, and I can only imagine a powerful half-angel, half-demon would be doubly so.  I’m obviously not parenting material, so it will be up to you to keep the thing alive.  It’s going to monopolize your time.  I’ll probably hate the little brat for taking your attention away from me.”  He leaned forward again, supporting his weight on his hands and knees as he licked more blood from her chest.  “I’ve got you covered, love.  Demonic sterilization—yes, there is a spell for that, and it is reversible.  You’re not getting knocked up any time soon.”</p><p>                She stared back at him.  Her eyes narrowed.  “Are you telling the truth?”</p><p>                “Of course I am.  I would never lie to you.”</p><p>                She grabbed the lapels of his suit, pulling him into a deep kiss.  He hummed happily and ran his hand up her thigh, moving back to the button on her jeans.  This time, she didn’t object when he unfastened it, so he continued with her zipper.  He pulled her pants down slowly, almost like a strip-tease for himself, then did the same with her underwear.  He drew his hand up her leg just as slowly, teasing her, rubbing the inside of her thigh.</p><p>                Marian pulled at Crowley’s suit.  “How come you’re still dressed?”</p><p>                He snapped his fingers and his clothes vanished.  “Better?”</p><p>                “Mmm.”  She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled his chest against her.  Her eyes shut and her head rolled back as she let herself enjoy the feeling of his skin, hot and smooth, against hers.  Crowley growled his appreciation, vibrations sending shivers down her body and pooling as heat between her legs. </p><p>                Crowley rolled onto his side, pulling her with him so that they were still facing each other.  His hand went to her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze before tracing circles around her nipple.  He repeated the motion with her other breast, lowering his head to suck on the first.  Marian moaned and reached for his erection, squeezing hard.  He bucked into her hand, his own sounds of pleasure muffled against her breasts. </p><p>                She rubbed her thumb over the tip, softly at first, then rougher.  He groaned and pressed into her touch, his tongue sliding across her nipple.  He kissed his way up her neck and back to her lips as he continued to grind into her hand. </p><p>                He ran his hand down her body, over the curve of her hip and across her thigh, then back up the inside of her leg, teasingly caressing her inner thigh.  Her legs opened in response, her hand sliding down his length and squeezing hard. </p><p>                “Mmm,” Crowley purred, “Good girl.”</p><p>                Again, she felt like she should be offended by his ‘praise,’ but in the context of sex it was just another turn-on.  Hell, he could say just about anything to her right now, and it would turn her on.  He could read a damn traffic report and make it sound sexy. </p><p>                Crowley slid his tongue into her mouth as his hand slid between her legs.  Marian made a very un-angelic sound as she felt his fingers circle her entrance and slide up to her clit.  She sucked on his tongue, then his lower lip, continuing to jerk him slowly as he rubbed her. </p><p>                “…So to be clear, you’re open to the idea of vaginal sex now?”</p><p>                “Hmm?”  She was momentarily distracted as he slowly pressed his finger inside her and curled it.  “<em>Fuck…</em>”  She squirmed as he started to pull out, hips pressing toward him in a silent plea to <em>do that again</em>.  “Yeah, I’m okay with it, just—”  His finger slid back inside to That Spot, and she moaned.  “…Be gentle.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had s—consensual sex.”</p><p>                Crowley removed his finger slowly, sucking in a breath as Marian rubbed her thumb back and forth over the head of his dick.  He ghosted a finger over her clit, barely touching, just enough to tease.  Then he did it again.  Marian gasped and arched her back.</p><p>                “Is this gentle enough for you?”</p><p>                She squeezed him tighter, pausing her strokes to rub her thumb across his head and smear more pre-cum down his shaft. </p><p>                “Mmm.  But there’s a big difference between a finger and a dick.”</p><p>                He rubbed her clit harder, sliding a finger back inside her.  He kissed her, long and slow, enjoying both the feel of her hand on his cock and how wet she was becoming.  After a very hot and very wet minute, he pulled back to let her breathe.</p><p>                “Sounds like a challenge.”</p><p>                “Wha--?  It’s just a fact.”</p><p>                “I suppose.  You know I have finesse, love—I may be a demon, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to jackhammer you until your hip fractures.”  He pulled his finger out of her and dipped back inside with two, curling them inside her until she whimpered in pleasure.  “I promised you multiple orgasms, and I keep my promises.”</p><p>                Marian squirmed as he slid his fingers in and out, in and out, finding a good rhythm.  She was basically humping his hand at this point, while she continued to twist her hand up and down his length.  “But I’ve never…I don’t think I’m built for that…”</p><p>                “For what?  Coming more than once?”  Crowley dipped his head down to suck on her neck.  “You just haven’t had the right partner yet.”  He nibbled his way up her throat until his lips brushed against her ear.  “I’ll show you, angel,” he purred, his voice a low rumble that sent a tingle down her spine.  He continued to thrust his fingers into her, adding his thumb on her clit.  Her legs opened wider and she made an undignified sound in the back of her throat.  Her free hand wrapped around his back, nails digging in, trying to draw him closer to her.</p><p>                Crowley hummed in satisfaction.  “You want more?”</p><p>                “Fuck.  Yeah,” she panted.</p><p>                He maneuvered himself so that he was between her legs, his fingers still pumping inside her, even as the change in angles forced her to let go of his dick.  He dipped his head down to kiss her, tongue plunging deep into her mouth and exploring every inch.  He nudged her legs farther apart, and slowly, maddeningly slowly, he withdrew his fingers.  </p><p>                Marian felt him press against her entrance, and tensed immediately.  He continued to kiss her as he very gently pressed inside, just the tip, and stopped.</p><p>                “Relax, love.  Breathe,” he purred.  He pulled out and rubbed his head across her clit, then slid back inside her. </p><p>                She breathed.  She tried to relax.  “Kiss me?” </p><p>                As he kissed her, he continued to press into her, never breaching more than an inch or two before pulling back out.  The only thing keeping him from plowing deep into her and fucking her wet, tight pussy into oblivion was a dreadful <em>human</em> need to not hurt her.  Shaking with the effort of restraint, he continued to breach her gently while his kisses became more desperate. </p><p>                “Relax, angel,” he said again, planting kisses down her neck.  He brought his lips to her ear, voice low and rumbling.  “Do you need my help?  Do you need me to eat you out, and make you cum?”  His voice dropped even lower.  “I’ll lick you up and down, just teasing at first…Get you all riled up, until you’re dripping wet for me.  Flick my tongue across your clit and make you squirm.  I’ll have you fucking my face while I fuck you with my tongue, and when you can’t take any more, I’ll suck your clit until you cum so hard, gushing all over me.  And while your pussy’s still twitching, I’ll slide my cock into you and fuck you until you come again.”</p><p>                His dirty talk had its desired effect: Marian was so turned on, she relaxed automatically, and Crowley was able to inch his way inside of her until he finally bottomed out.  He stayed like that for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling of his dick filling her completely. </p><p>                “You’re so tight and wet for me,” he moaned, grinding his hips forward.  Marian whimpered in response, and he drew his head back to look at her.  Her eyes were closed, face tense, though it was hard to tell if she was experiencing pleasure or pain.  “Angel?  You alright?”</p><p>                She opened her eyes.  “Mmm-hmm.  Just…Go slow.”</p><p>                “Of course, love.” </p><p>                She could feel every inch of him as he moved, pumping in and out smooth and slow.  It felt good—not great, but good.  Even though she had loosened up a bit, it still felt like he was too big for her, like he was going to split her open.  Sure, it was sexy, but it also hurt, burning as he stretched her beyond her breaking point.</p><p>                Crowley ground his hips against her, dick stirring deep inside her.  That felt <em>good</em>.  She started to move her hips as well, bucking up against him to drive him even deeper.  <em>This</em>—this was what she needed. </p><p>                Crowley growled in pleasure.  This was what he wanted—his angel writhing in pleasure beneath him.  “Wrap your legs around me,” he purred, continuing his slow grind.</p><p>                With her legs around his waist, every grinding thrust forward pressed against her g-spot and flooded her body with pleasure.  She wanted more, grinding up against him with increasing desperation, but he was purposefully holding back, keeping her on the edge.  He murmured dirty nothings in her ear: “So wet for me,” “Such a naughty angel, so desperate for my demon cock,” “Damn, your pussy is so tight, it’s going to massage the cum out of me,” and every word brought her closer but not far enough.  When she couldn’t take it any more, she pressed her heels into his ass, forcing his hips forward, and ground into him hard and fast.  Crowley let her take the lead, enjoying the feel of her body under him, her sloppy-wet pussy around his dick, and the increasingly pornographic moans that escaped her throat. </p><p>                “Dig your nails into my back,” he prompted.  She did so immediately, and now the fantasy he’d been playing out in his mind for months was complete, only somehow better.  Marian made it better—knowing she loved him, and he loved her, it was all so much better than sex had any right to be.  If it weren’t for his outrageous demonic stamina, he would have come in her already, but that wasn’t how this fantasy went. </p><p>                “I’m—fuck, Crowley—”</p><p>                “Mmm, yes…Come for me, angel.”</p><p>                Marian came hard, crying out as pleasure washed over her in waves.  She continued grinding into him, drawing out her orgasm.  He thrust back into her as she tightened around him, gushing wet. Crowley continued to move his hips slowly as she sagged back against the mattress, muscles lax.  She looked thoroughly fucked and blissed-out, her face flushed and her eyes just a little out of focus, <em>and she looked that way because of him</em>. </p><p>                “My perfect little angel,” Crowley purred.  “The only thing you’re missing is my cum, all over you.”</p><p>                Marian was still breathing hard.  “I’m sure we can—” she paused for breath—“Remedy that.”</p><p>                The demon smiled.  “In due time.  I’m still having fun playing with you.”</p><p>                “Hmm?  But—”</p><p>                Crowley kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth as his dick probed between her legs.  “You don’t think I can make you cum again, do you?  I’m looking forward to proving you wrong.”</p><p>                “Crowley…” </p><p>                He kissed her again, shutting down any argument she might have.  “Let’s switch things up, shall we?”  He thrust into her one more time, burying himself to the hilt, then pulled out slowly.  “I want you riding my cock.”</p><p>                Crowley rolled onto his back, pulling Marian on top of him.  She sprawled over him like a throw blanket, still feeling boneless from her orgasm.  She slid a bit to the side so that she could grab his dick, wrapping her fist around him and stroking him lazily. </p><p>                “You don’t want me on top,” she said, resting her head on his chest.  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”</p><p>                “What’s there to know?  It’s sex; you just do what feels good.  Have fun.  It’s not like we’re making porn.  Though we could, if you’d like.”</p><p>                “No!” she replied quickly, picking her head up.  “No.  I just…I feel like you’d get bored…”</p><p>                Crowley chuckled.  “With my cock in you?  Not likely.  Here; sit up a little.”</p><p>                She sat up to straddle him, letting him guide her onto his dick.  She sank down slowly, feeling that post-orgasm hyper-sensitivity and a tiny bit of soreness.  Her hands rested on either side of his head, arms feeling unusually weak, but she managed to hold herself up.  She felt self-conscious, like she was more on display in this position—which was silly—she knew she wasn’t making a porno, and she wasn’t any more exposed on top of him than she had been under him.  But it still felt weird, since she was so used to being on the bottom.  For an ex-angel who hunted monsters, she’d led a very vanilla sex life. </p><p>                Crowley moaned like he <em>was</em> making a porno and grabbed her ass, rolling his hips into her.  As he continued to thrust into her, he tugged her ass forward, grinding her against his cock.  Marian shivered as a tingle of pleasure shot through her: Maybe there was something to be said for being on top, after all.  He was so deep inside her, and the grinding movement pressed him against that magic spot every time.  She didn’t need his encouragement anymore; she started moving with him, grinding into him with every upward thrust.  She built speed gradually, slow rolls of her hips becoming increasingly urgent. </p><p>                There are people (mostly demons) who assume that, having such a dominant personality, Crowley would always take the top position during sex.  For the most part, they’re correct: Sex, for demons, is mostly about control and power, and it’s easier to control someone when you’re on top of them.  With humans, however, things are different: Most of Crowley’s human partners weren’t concerned with dominating him, so he didn’t have to work to maintain control over them. </p><p>                Marian was easy to manipulate—he’d been manipulating every aspect of her life for months, after all.  He could have edged her for hours, but it was more fun to see what she’d do if he gave her the chance.  And there was nothing more satisfying, no bigger turn-on, than having a former angel ride his cock like it was the best damn thing on Earth.  He abandoned his hold on her ass and grabbed her breasts, alternating between gentle squeezes and rubbing her nipples. </p><p>                He thrust into her hard and fast, and she gave it right back to him, grinding harder against his cock.  Her arms started to shake, ready to give out, and his hands on her chest became less of a tease and more like structural support.  She could feel herself getting close, pleasure welling from her core.  She couldn’t get enough—harder, deeper, faster, she just wanted more.</p><p>                “Crow—Crowley,” she moaned, “Gonna cum again…”</p><p>                He gave her breasts a good squeeze, letting out a pleased growl.  “Yes…Cum for me, and I’ll fill you up—good girl, take all my hot cum in that tight, wet pussy—”</p><p>                Marian came hard, practically screaming, and as Crowley fucked her through every wave of pleasure, she felt him cum inside her, hot semen erupting deep inside her in an oddly satisfying way.  As the last throes of their orgasms passed, Crowley wrapped his arms around her back and drew her against him for a slow, breathless kiss.  She gave up on any attempt to hold herself up, resting all of her weight on him.  He rocked his hips into her a few more times, drawing out that post-orgasm tingle, before gently pulling out and rolling them both onto their sides, keeping his arms around her.  She shivered, and he used his power to pull a blanket over them. </p><p>                She leaned her head against his chest, feeling sated and breathless and a little dizzy.  Her arms and legs felt weak, like she might have trouble standing up right away, and she was a little sore between her legs, but not bad.  There was a wet spot on the bed—had that all come out of her?  It must have, because Crowley’s crotch was soaked, as were her own thighs.  As she lay still, she thought she could feel a little semen seep out of her as well.</p><p>                Crowley ran his hand lightly down her back.  “I believe I still owe you a date?  I seem to have gotten…Distracted.”</p><p>                “Hmm?”  She felt dopey, caught up in the heat of his body and the smell of sulfur and sex.  Even though she’d just woken up, she was ready to go back to sleep.  “Yeah…Australia.”  Her tongue tripped over the word, slurring the consonants.</p><p>                The demon chuckled.  “Do you need a nap first?”</p><p>                “Mmm-hmm.”  She nuzzled his chest, then stretched and slid up the bed until her head found a pillow.  “’S your fault.  Shouldn’t’ve made me cum so hard.  Twice.”</p><p>                “And I take full responsibility for that,” he said with a grin.  “I’ll let you recover.” </p><p>                She yawned and turned over, flipping so that her back was pressed against his chest.  “Mmm.  Just need a minute.”</p><p>                He smoothed her hair away from her face, leaning forward to kiss her temple.  “I love you, angel.”</p><p>                “Love you, too.”</p><p>               </p><p>               </p><p>               </p>
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